


hello, stranger

by Emmandroid



Category: GOT7, JJ Project
Genre: First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24453553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmandroid/pseuds/Emmandroid
Summary: a series of independent meet-cute jjp oneshots (good times only)EDIT (200711): marked completed, at least for now
Relationships: Im Jaebum | JB/Park Jinyoung, Mark Tuan/Jackson Wang, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 16
Kudos: 112





	1. swoonin' in the rain

His first thought as he exits through the revolving door is how people can still vehemently refute climate change...in 2020, when rainshowers show a complete disregard to established seasonal climate patterns. Jinyoung was certain they were still in the throes of summer, and a scorching one at that, but alas the skies are clearly gray and the heavens bathing the city in a cascade of rain. He unzips his black leather satchel, reaches in, sorts through its contents for his foldable umbrella, then furiously sorts through it again when he doesn’t find it. And then it hits him. Motherf—

Despite the now rising panic in his system, or probably as a result of it, he finds himself chuckling at the comical coincidence of his dilemma). He’d spilled coffee on his bag that morning and then, while lamenting both his coffee and his attaché, hastily transferred his belongings from one bag to another — hastily being the operative word because, clearly, in his rush to overcome the ordeal he had failed to retrieve every item from his soiled bag. And it is just his luck that it had to be his umbrella that he forgot. It was a bright, beautiful morning; if it had been otherwise, he probably would have paid particular attention to packing his umbrella before leaving the house. Ending his indulgent flashback of the morning’s events, he is brought back to the present and its attendant predicament. He clenches his teeth until his temporal arteries feel like bursting. He would have stomped his oxfords on the textured mat he was planted on, but he’s an adult — and a steadily rising corporate figure at that — so a visible tantrum is probably inappropriate despite its appeal.

He could just hail a cab from where he’s standing under the eaves of their skyscraper’s lobby, but the traffic of the afternoon rush, compounded by the weather, is hardly an attractive idea. His apartment is a mere few blocks from his workplace and he imagines the rains will have petered to a tolerable drizzle by the time his cab makes it even barely halfway. So no, he decides, he will not hail a cab. He extracts himself from his blazer, which he folds and stuffs into his satchel. When he finally resolves to go out into the rain, which he will, he’d rather not have his custom-tailored jacket pelted with fat drops of rain and given an impromptu washing. He has it dry cleaned, thank you very much. And then he realizes that it leaves him in a white button-up which, albeit thick and stiff, will inevitably turn translucent after walking a couple yards. Fantastic, he’s like one of those novelty toys from his childhood that transform when doused in water — Park Jinyoung: turns from drab office worker to a hooker (just add water!) He can almost imagine the cardboard box. Whatever, he still would not have his blazer ruined by the villainous rain. So inappropriately-exposed tits it is.

He shuts his eyes and listens in to the sound of the rain. It doesn’t seem to have changed in the how many minutes he’s spent standing in place, nor does it appear to let up any time soon. He thinks he’ll give it ten minutes and make his next decision then, so he slides the strap of his satchel closer and takes his phone out to occupy himself in the interim. He scrolls through his personal email account and finally gets to deleting the absurd multitude of previously ignored promotional messages that absolutely no one even subscribes to but nonetheless find their way to the inbox. He’s ticked 385 when he hears a timid cough from beside and slightly behind him. He ignores it at first, it might have been just an actual insuppressible cough after all, and continues to clear his inbox. And then he hears a tentative “uhm” from the same direction and finally looks up and shifts his gaze to his new neighbor and holy cow —

Damn the man is fine.

The man in front of him is of similar height and garb, but whose features could be no more distinct from Jinyoung’s own — piercing, almost feline eyes resting above and between an immaculately pointed nose bridge, a pair of thin yet vibrant pink lips set in a hesitant upward curve, and prominent cheekbones sloping into a sharply defined, intensely masculine jaw. His short auburn hair is swept up to reveal a strong forehead, and his long sleeves have been unmeticulously pushed up to expose toned forearms. The image formed by the combination of all these physical details, and especially amidst a backdrop of progressively darkening, continuously rainy skies, exudes the appeal of a brooding bad boy that is as immensely electrifying to Jinyoung now as it was in his pseudo-emo pubertal years. His gaze traces back to the man’s face, eyebrows now raised in apparent question. Oh right, he was expected to respond. _Calm down, you hoe, you’re embarrassing yourself_ . “Hi,” he proffers, and laments the juvenile break in his voice as the word leaves his mouth. _Thanks for the cooperation, larynx, that was exactly (!) what I needed_. “Hi,” he tries again with an obvious attempt to school his tone, so that now he sounds pretentiously, exaggeratedly, masculine. He stifles the impending tears brought about by rapidly humiliating himself before an attractive stranger — he’s more than a decade past his teenage naivete, and yet here he is making a fool of himself after managing a literal two words.

Said attractive stranger, thankfully, smiles a smile that radiates amusement without the dreaded undertones of repulsion or judgment. And before Jinyoung could test the third-time-is-the-charm hypothesis and say another “hi,” the man in front of him extends a hand and introduces himself as Im Jaebum. Determined not to look the simpleton any further, Jinyoung coolly accepts the hand and shakes it in a firm, confident handshake, then likewise introduces himself. _Thanks, brachial plexus, for not betraying me like larynx did_. The man, Jaebum, continues, “I just stepped out and wondered if you were stuck in the rain.”

  
  
“Oh,” he replies, scratching his nape and feeling a blush come onto his features, “I actually was. I forgot to bring an umbrella on the one day I need it. I feel betrayed by the heavens.”

Jaebum chuckles heartily at that. _Yes, intentional comedy_. “Right, so I wondered if you’d like to share an umbrella? I can escort you where you’re headed,” slightly shaking the umbrella in his hand as if to provide additional clarification.

And for the first time this afternoon, Jinyoung feels like crying _out of joy_ . Bless Im Jaebum, his handsome face, and his umbrella. But of course he has to convey some semblance of modesty. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you, Mister Im.” He definitely intended the formality to be reverent and not like he were some submissive sex kitten, but he detects the barely perceptible twitch in Jaebum’s eye at being addressed as such. _Intriguing_. Jaebum coughs out, perhaps to regain his bearings, and assures Jinyoung that it’s no imposition, repeating that “it’s no big deal” when he sees Jinyoung still hesitating to accept the help. Jinyoung nods and pockets his phone, only now realizing he’d still been clutching it throughout their brief conversation. Jaebum unfurls his umbrella, which does in fact seem to be capable of sheltering two persons within its fabric dome. They step under it, simultaneously glancing at each other and locking gazes in a heart-stopping, cliché moment that Jinyoung’s only waited twenty plus years to tick off his bucket list. He proffers his street address and they set off in that direction, keeping close under the umbrella as the rain continues to surge.

Jinyoung discovers that Jaebum works for one of the handful of telecom companies housed in their building, in a position comparable to his own at the banking company he works for and situated three floors above Jaebum’s. Coincidentally (or, as Jinyoung’s romantic self would phrase it, as fate would have it), they’re of the same age and have worked for their respective companies the same duration of time. One might think that, going into and coming out of the same building five days a week for a number of years, they’d have bumped into each other earlier than they did. But it really is a large building, housing a different company on each level, so it isn’t actually at all surprising everything considered. They discuss their superiors and colleagues, the one vexing intern in their current summer batch, what websites aren’t banned on their company broadband (strangely, that one popular pornographic website — which they discovered on a whim and not out of necessity, don’t judge them please and thank you), what their favorite lunch item is from the 15th floor cafeteria, and other facts of office life, both the fascinating and the mundane.

It is a testament to how engrossed he is in their conversation that Jinyoung overlooks an inordinately large puddle on the sidewalk, only realizing its presence as he hears the squelch of his foot in the water and the concomitant feeling of wet socks in waterlogged shoes — he heard the sound of his first foot contacting the water but was too slow to avoid stepping in the puddle with his other foot. Beside him, Jaebum laughs sincerely, unspared by the demon puddle yet coolly taking the predicament in stride. From the obvious mirth on his face, Jinyoung almost expects him to step back into the puddle and repeatedly stomp his feet like a five-year-old. He doesn’t, thankfully, and they keep walking. Jinyoung makes sure to thoroughly scan the pavement for any more collections of rainwater, but Jaebum’s cheery demeanor does at least partially uplift his own irk. His socks are still very much wet but the sensation bothers him less with each of their synchronized steps.

The rain still pours around them and the strength of the sound as it batters the ground, discordantly blending with the scattered honks from impatient motorists at an intersection, has them having to bundle closer under the umbrella to resume conversation. “Do you enjoy the rain?” asks Jinyoung in response to their earlier involvement with a puddle and the positive reaction it elicited from Jaebum.

“Sort of? Don’t get me wrong — I’m not above feeling annoyed when the rain is inconveniently timed, and I don’t wish for it because it’s a real hassle to a lot of other people — but it always has evoked a sense of peace in me. I was a pretty turbulent child and the rain was one of the few things that gave me pause: it starts and stops when it wishes, waxes and wanes as it pleases, and it’d remind me there are things beyond my control and which I can’t bend to my will. So I don’t know if I enjoy the rain _per se_ but I’ve learned to...embrace it.”

“I guess...I’ve never seen it that way,” replies Jinyoung, softly, as he ponders this new perspective and the quiet strength of Jaebum’s conviction.

“Maybe you could learn to _be_ in the rain instead of simply anticipating its ending.”

Coming from someone else and stated in a different tone, Jinyoung might have construed it as a reprimand and taken offense, but as he allows Jaebum’s words to simmer in his mind he realizes the benevolent earnestness of the reminder. It slows him in his steps and, as he turns to Jaebum, he finds him already gazing back with that same tentative smile he’d had when they first met outside the office and he offered to share his umbrella. Only this time his eyes are fonder, as they’d progressed from being strangers while conversing in the rain. And this time Jinyoung doesn’t stutter, or even feel the need to impress Jaebum, just mirrors his smile and chooses to _be_.

A comfortable silence ensues as they continue their trek, and in a few minutes they arrive at Jinyoung’s street and turn the corner to his apartment. He stops to face Jaebum as they reach his gate. “Would you like to come up? At least to dry your socks and towel your feet, perhaps? Or have a cup of tea?”

Jaebum seems to be thoughtfully considering his proposition before ultimately declining. Jinyoung is only slightly disappointed because, although he’d greatly enjoyed the company, the exhaustion of the day finally asserts itself and he doubts he’d sustain the energy to act the gracious host.

“My own place is only a bit farther and I wouldn’t want to impose. Besides...I might not want to leave anymore if I do.”

Jinyoung allows himself to blush at probably the first frankly flirtatious overture in their conversation. “But I do have to return your kindness, so I won’t accept a refusal to lunch tomorrow.”

Jaebum acquiesces at that and they proceed to exchange numbers. Then with a final smile and wave, Jaebum turns back down the street as Jinyoung serenely watches him from his doorway. He’s only gotten wetter since the incident with the puddle because, despite the shelter provided them by Jaebum’s umbrella, it was raining pretty vigorously and they were defenseless from sideways sheets of rain. He immediately rids himself of his sodden garments after locking his door, and quickly showers before happily changing into a fresh pair of _dry_ house clothes. 

He notices his coffee-stained bag with the foldable umbrella as he walks to his window, quietly smiling at the import of its role in the events of the day. As he settles in front of the glass, he shuts his eyes and listens in to the sound of the rain. It doesn’t seem to have changed in the how many minutes he’s spent traveling home from the office, nor does it appear to let up any time soon. 

But as Jaebum’s smiling face flashes through his mind, this time he doesn’t protest the rain. He chooses to just _be_. //

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have been wanting to do a meet-cute oneshot series in. forever. i saw a video of johnny seo discussing a new 127 song in an interview and was inspired to write this.
> 
> the title is obvs a play on singin' in the rain, which is such a joyful film do watch it if you haven't yet (or even if you have!)
> 
> i hope you enjoyed this and do comment below for meet-cute ideas you'd want me to write (i might, we shall see)


	2. it’s not above nerds to fall in love

Jaebum doesn’t typically pass off as the smart kid. With his serious features and wardrobe of Thrasher sweaters, he’s almost automatically branded as the resident emo skater boy junkie who is wildly attractive to girls in the way that emotionally unattainable bad boys are wont to being. And yes it  _ is _ the image he plays up but he is, in fact, not any of those descriptors. He doesn’t wallow in sad boy music nor use an inordinate amount of black eyeliner, his only experience with skates is when he was ten and gifted a pair of light-up roller skate sneakers, the only substance he inhales is salbutamol for his asthma, and he most definitely could not care for affections from the opposite sex (read: he’s a flaming gay).

The only persons privy to his academic prodigiousness are his parents and teachers, from whom he’s received many a comment about brandishing his brilliance — by which they mean wearing sweater vests and khakis and trading his contacts for glasses. He’s also been invited, practically begged, to represent their school in scholastic competitions but declines every time. 

It is as this secret smartypants that he leaves his old high school and moves to another city, following his father’s reassignment to a different satellite office for work. He has every intention of remaining under the radar in his new school, he resolves, as he leaves the secretariat office and thumbs through his class schedule and other paperwork. He is greeted just outside the door by a bespectacled woman, obviously a teacher, with a devilishly cheerful smile on her face. He shyly but respectfully replies with a small nod then turns to leave, only to be frozen in place when the teacher addresses him by name.

“Im Jaebum, right?”

  
  
He turns back around to face the teacher and nods in assent. He doesn’t find it unusual that the teacher knows him because the faculty was sure to have been notified of a transfer student named Im Jaebum, and by his unfamiliar face and his coming out of secretariat,  _ he _ was obviously Im Jaebum. Still, the expectant grin on the woman’s face feels like a premonition of something unpleasant and he momentarily wishes he had denied being Im Jaebum, despite the consequences of fibbing to a teacher and on his first day here at that. The woman introduces herself as the AP maths teacher and quiz coach, and that’s when Jaebum fully and indisputably realizes he’s been caught in a trap.   
  


“The principal forwarded your profile to the faculty just before you’d arrived and I was pretty impressed by your academic records from your old school.”

Jaebum is not the least bit charmed by the comment — he  _ knows _ he’s smart and doesn’t particularly care for being complimented on the fact. And it was obvious that the praise was simply a prelude to a proposition that Jaebum would definitely not appreciate, so he really can’t bring himself to preen at the esteem.

The teacher, recognizing that her introductions won’t merit a response from Jaebum, simply continues on her spiel, “But one thing I noted and found curious was that you were never in any competitions. So unless your school was just teeming with geniuses, I can’t see why your grades wouldn’t have earned you a spot on your quiz team. Unless...you declined any offers.”

This time Jaebum knows he’s meant to fill the pause but he’s still reeling from this unexpected confrontation about a matter he’d meant to hide, so he can only nod in affirmation. But then the teacher asks why and he has to verbalize his ideas this time around. “I guess I just don’t like people knowing I’m smart. I’d rather they leave me alone because they think I’m some brooding, self-identified social misfit, not because I’m a nerd who’d compromise their social standing.”

“Well I can’t say I don’t understand. Kids your age are notorious for smart shaming, and they still believe cheerleaders and jocks rule the world.” The shade doesn’t escape Jaebum and elicits a smile. “Universities place stock on grades but they also pay attention to extracurriculars, Jaebum. You’re a junior now and you’ll need more than your test scores to appear a promising prospect. Academically gifted students are few in a school but a dime a dozen in their whole pool of applicants, so they accept those with other qualities to offer. I can’t say it’s fair to expect so much from people your age, but that’s just how competitive the field is. So if you want to be among like-minded peers who value instead of ridicule your intelligence, you’ll have to work harder, Jaebum.”

Jaebum knows this but the reminder, from another person, is a cold shock to his system. Still, the comment seems to come from a place of wisdom and genuine concern, so he feels  himself appreciative despite his earlier resistance to this conversation.

The teacher probably feels his change in demeanor and, optimistic, continues, “So what do you say about joining my quiz team, Im Jaebum?”

It’s an offer he’d vehemently refused until this moment but, as Jaebum commences his journey in this new school, he thinks he’s allowed to change his mind.

His parents are joyfully surprised when he informs them about joining the school quiz team. However he ignores their disappointed stares when he tells them that “no, mom and dad, I’m not changing my wardrobe to sweater vests and khakis.” He reckons he can still maintain his established persona to the general school population, even as he takes on this new uncharacteristic extracurricular venture. That and he just is not attracted to being 16 but dressing 45.

So it is in his usual oversized hoodie and skinny jeans that he meets his teammates the first time. He catches the confused then mildly frightened looks on their faces as he enters the room for their first after-school meeting of the year. He doesn’t take it to heart but he momentarily laments the perpetuation of obsolete, juvenile, superficial stereotypes — maybe then he wouldn’t have to exploit the same system to avoid untoward attention. The four of them make the necessary, awkward, introductions and he discovers that the team consists of a sophomore named Youngjae, a fellow junior named Jackson, and a senior named Mark. The lack of a female member is highly unusual but Mark assures him it was merely coincidental and not a product of institutionalized sexism.  _ That _ would not have been acceptable. 

He learns throughout the meeting that their coach is  _ scarily _ invested in competition and he wonders how she didn’t just corner Jaebum that first day and threaten him into joining the team — because she honestly looks like she could have and Jaebum reminds himself not to slack off in their preparations lest he witness her unsavory side. He also learns he quite enjoys conversing with his teammates, who’d quickly warmed up to him after their initial shock. Come to think of it, not any of them fits the usual “nerdy” image of a quiz team competitor — they look reserved, at most, but in no way socially inept. And no one is dressed like a middle-aged office executive who plays golf. 

He actually comes to stick with Jackson in their shared classes and during breaks, and greets his other teammates when he passes them in the hallways. They’re all engrossed in studying and quizzing one another at their team meetings, and Jaebum appreciates the earnestness with which his peers fulfill their duties. He’d agreed to join the team mainly for future advancement and, though he is shy to admit, it’s a matter he views with great seriousness. Sometimes their coach treats them to donuts, or the four of them go out for burgers after their study sessions. It is especially in these times that Jaebum feels most like the conventional teenager, and it both amuses and pleases him that joining a quiz team had been his key to that.

In seemingly no time at all, the day of their first competition arrives and Jaebum is a ball of nervous energy on the car ride to the opponent school. It doesn’t help that he’s the only member of their team who has neither participated in nor watched a previous quiz contest, so even with all their preparations and his own independent studying he can’t help but feel like he were going into this blind. Jackson notices his tight expression and restless hand-wringing from beside him, and breaks him out of it with a light punch to his shoulder. “You’ll be fine, Jaebum. You’re new to this and yet you already know so much information, so don’t doubt yourself. And regardless of the outcome, as long as we all do our best, we can be proud of our efforts. And coach will treat us to steak tonight, so there’s always that to look forward to.” It doesn’t completely relieve him of his tension but Jaebum does crack a smile, grateful to his friend for the good-natured words of comfort he badly needed.

The nerves reemerge as soon as they arrive at the venue and enter the auditorium doors, eyes fixating on the stage where there are two adjacent tables — four chairs behind and a buzzer on top of each. Spectators also start to filter in and occupy scattered positions throughout the room.  _ This place is huge. Oh god does he have to contend with stage fright too _ . “I need to use the restroom,” prattles Jaebum, running out the doors without waiting for acknowledgement from his team. He doesn’t really need to use the restroom, only wanted to go out, but he might as well locate it and relieve himself while he’s at it. Thankfully, the organizers pasted signs on the walls directing guests to the restrooms and he blazes past the hallway in nervous energy as he follows the arrows. 

In his current frenetic state, he doesn’t see the boy in front of him as he rounds a corner, and their bodies collide in a loud disruption of momentum. Both of them stumble back onto the floor, where strewn across are various index cards with handwritten notes. Realizing the other boy had probably dropped him (and also that the other boy was probably one of their opponents), Jaebum hurries to help retrieve the cards, standing up and offering them to the boy when each piece has been collected. It is as he lifts his gaze to the other boy’s face that Jaebum makes a third, important realization —

He is  _ hella _ cute.

His round eyes are enlarged in surprise, plush lips jutting out, and cheeks tinted  in the softest pink against an otherwise impossibly fair complexion. Jaebum may or may not have muttered “wow” under his breath. The boy chuckles lightly and looks down, and Jaebum detects the rising blush in his puffy cheeks. So it did come out, and beautiful boy heard it.  _ Embarrassing _ . Saving Jaebum, or himself, from further discomfort, the boy looks back up and proffers a shy smile then hastily resumes his walk in the direction he was headed. Jaebum allows himself all of two seconds to regain his bearings before speed walking (not running this time) to the bathroom, all the while giggling at the romcom collision that had just transpired.

When he returns to the auditorium, Jackson almost drags him by the forearm as they make their way to the stage. “Dude, what took you so long? For a minute there we thought you’d flaked and coach was about to send me and Youngjae to look for you.” Jaebum, who had actually reentered the venue in some sort of a lovesick high, suddenly feels apologetic for his inconsideration. Jackson, however, loosens his grip on his forearm, turns to face him, places a hand on each shoulder, and looks directly at Jaebum with a serious but non-threatening expression. “Jaebum, you’ve got this. Just relax, trust in our preparations, trust in your teammates, and give it your best. This will soon be over and you wouldn’t want to miss the feeling of your first competition because you spent the whole time anticipating it ending. Alright?”

Once again Jaebum startles at how Jackson can so easily go from boisterous to introspective and thoughtful. And Jaebum is thankful he’s his teammate and friend. He mirrors the conviction in Jackson’s eyes and his hands on his shoulders then, in quiet agreement, they continue their way up the stage and take their respective seats beside Youngjae and Mark, who both also smile at Jaebum in unspoken encouragement. He returns their smiles, takes a deep breath, and looks determinedly forward in newfound confidence.  _ Alright, Im Jaebum, here we go _ .

The team simultaneously look to their right as the opponent team takes their places on the stage one after the another. The three girls he sees radiate an almost tangible aura of confidence, giving Jaebum no doubt that they’ve done this before. Jaebum is intimidated for sure but is careful not to appear so. And then he sees him —

The beautiful boy from the hallway, as expected, is their fourth competitor. But where he was blushing and timid in their earlier interaction, this time he exudes the same confidence as his teammates, with a determined, almost defiant look in his eyes. Jaebum thinks that, like him, he too might be a novice with something to prove. It’s both admirable and hot. The boy, as if sensing his stare, looks in his direction and only appears shocked for a split second before schooling his features into a challenging smirk.  _ Two can play this game _ , thinks Jaebum, and reciprocates with a wink before looking forward and listening to the quizmaster as he makes his introductions.

They’re quickly thrown into the competition and Jaebum, to his relief, finds it easy to focus — studiously listening to each question then turning to his teammates to quickly come to a consensus before pressing the buzzer and proffering an answer. They have specific subjects that each person is particularly knowledgeable in, literature in Jaebum’s case, and for questions he’s positively certain of the answer he foregoes discussing with his teammates and races to press the buzzer. A curious development is how literature also seems to be the forte of his handsome competitor, who he finds is named Park Jinyoung. All such questions are exclusively answered by either him or Jinyoung, and Jaebum is incited to brandish his knowledge further. He doesn’t know whether Jinyoung is impressed or disgruntled by having to share points for questions on his expertise, but what Jaebum can tell is Jinyoung shares his own resolve to prove himself — whether or not it’ll spoil his chances with Jinyoung, Jaebum is sure he can appreciate how seriously he takes the competition and refuses to falter even in the face of a handsome distraction.

Their team is announced to possess a marginal lead as both groups take a five-minute break before the final round. Jaebum sinks down his seat, only now feeling his back ache from excitedly leaning forward the whole time. Jackson claps him on the back and cheesily teases him “JBeast” in recognition of his distinct contribution in advancing their score. Mark mildly reprimands them about celebrating before the game has actually ended but it is evident in his eyes that he too is pleased with the outcome thus far. Mark and Jackson, who’d previously faced the competing school, were aware they were formidable opponents, especially with the addition of a brilliant newcomer — Jinyoung — likening him to Jaebum as their team’s mysterious new trump card. Jaebum involuntarily blushes at the serendipitous similarity but, given their cluelessness to his earlier mishap with Jinyoung in the hallway, his teammates probably attribute the reaction to  their praise. Soon they’re given the 30-second warning and they school their faces into competition mode as the final, crucial round commences.

Whoever curated the questions for this final round is some sadistic mf with a vengeance against high school quiz teams. Topics range from oncogenes to astrophysics to obscure cultural references, and about half are incorrectly answered by either team. And then the subject changes to calculus and it’s a direct competition between Mark and one of the girls on the opposite team. Jaebum is unaware of their current scores as the quizmaster announces there’s just one question left. Classic film is the category and Jaebum feels the weight of pressure as his teammates look to him to tide them through. He doesn’t allow the quizmaster to finish the question before forcefully slamming on the buzzer — the shrill tune reverberating through and breaking the concentrated silence of the auditorium. With a resolute proclamation of “Casablanca” into the microphone, he feels his heart skip a beat in his chest before the quizmaster smiles at him and announces their school as the winner of today’s competition. His teammates immediately tackle him and he is slightly suffocated by their embrace but at the moment can not care less, sharing in their joy as they revel in the hard-fought triumph. 

They’re awarded their medals and informed of their next match in six weeks’ time against a school whose name Jaebum fails to catch in his excitement. Their coach is in tears as she hugs them one after the other but then Jaebum’s line of sight registers the opponent team unobtrusively leaving the auditorium. 

Ignoring his companions’ startled faces, he rushes off the stage and catches Jinyoung’s arm right as he makes for the door handle. He feels him jolt slightly at the touch before turning around to face him. “Hi,” proffers Jaebum, and he can’t find it in him to feel embarrassed at how breathless he sounds from sprinting. “Hi,” Jinyoung returns with that same shy smile from earlier. “Congratulations, Im Jaebum. You were pretty impressive for your first competition.” He says it with absolute sincerity and no trace of resentment, and again Jaebum finds himself awash with relief. 

“Thanks and likewise. My teammates even described you as the brilliant newcomer, and I have to say you kept me on my toes all through those literature categories.” Jinyoung full on laughs at that and Jaebum gapes at the melodious timbre of his laughter paired with the endearing way that his eyes shut and form crinkles at their sides. 

“Oh and I’d like to formally apologize for bumping into you earlier in the hallway. I panicked when we entered the auditorium so I bolted to the bathroom, and I didn’t see you walking in front of me.”

“Then I’d like to apologize too. It was my fault as much as yours because, as you figured, my eyes were on my notes and not in front of me. I guess it isn’t above brilliant newcomers to make stupid mistakes when turning the corner.”

They both chuckle at that then quietly lock gazes before inevitably blushing. Jinyoung breathes out a small cough and Jaebum scratches his nape before remembering to ask the other boy for his number. They just finish saving each other’s contact details when one of Jinyoung’s teammates reenters the auditorium and beckons him to leave. A flash of disappointment briefly mars his face before he offers Jaebum a last bashful smile and a wave goodbye. Jaebum reciprocates as Jinyoung turns to his companion and follows her out. But then as he’s halfway through the door he pauses and looks back at Jaebum, holds his curious stare, and brightly declares —

“Here’s looking at you, kid.” //

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> very mildly inspired by mean girls: did anyone imagine their quiz coach as tina fey?
> 
> and look another classic film reference haha it's bc i've been exploring them recently and casablanca is my /fave/


	3. blame it on the alcohol

Jinyoung hears the heavy bass from a block away and is filled with a strong sense of despair and misgiving. He had allowed his friend Mark to coax him into attending a party that his new boyfriend Jackson Wang is hosting. “Correction, Jinyoungie: it’s not  _ a _ party, it’s  _ the _ party,” he remembers Mark saying with almost indignant frustration when he had first expressed his reluctance to attend. 

Jackson Wang was a prominent figure in their not insignificant university population for three compelling reasons. One, he was the indisputable star of their school fencing team, being himself a member of the prestigious national team. Two, Jackson was a gregarious (and loud, very loud) guy with an impressive ability to engage anyone in conversation and set them at ease around him. He had no such political ambitions, Jinyoung knew, but if Jackson ever contemplated running for university council president he’d win with no questions asked. Three, and which is perhaps his most appealing characteristic to broke and thirsty college students, Jackson Wang threw the most spectacular house parties at his family’s estate of a home, and it is to one of these parties that Jinyoung was making his way at this moment.

Jinyoung, reserved literature student Jinyoung (boring and snooty literature student Jinyoung, as his friends unkindly tease him), has not been to one of the many such Wang parties that had taken place in his three years at their university. It took him intense convincing to even try his first beer last year, and on the few times that he decides to switch his regular iced americano for alcohol, he prefers to do so in a more relaxed and intimate setting with only his closest friends privy to these sporadic episodes of uncharacteristic disinhibition. Therefore he had no intentions of attending this one until Mark had steadfastly pressed him into going: “Jinyoung, you’re the best friend of the boyfriend of the man throwing the party, it’s your social  _ responsibility _ to attend.” 

“Excuse me, what now?? Mark Tuan this is not some prissy charity benefit and I’m not the socialite sorority sister of the East Coast heiress wife of a senatorial candidate — I most definitely do not have a social responsibility to appear at this shindig.”

If he does say so himself he’d nailed their argument with that one but Mark had pulled out the sad, kicked-puppy-dog eyes and expressed his need for a companion while his boyfriend made his necessary exchanges with guests around the house. And alright Jinyoung acknowledged his point. Jackson didn’t content himself with just opening the doors to his house and providing refreshments, being ever the gracious host he spearheaded the entertainment himself and made sure to converse with as many of the guests as possible. Jinyoung had never understood where he drew such an extensive reserve of energy for social interactions, but he appreciates Jackson’s commitment to ensuring people had a good time at his party and that they felt included. Alas it was with a heavy heart that he ultimately conceded to his friend’s pleas. 

He hears rambunctious shouting as the Wang manor comes into view and he dies a little (a lot) inside, knowing with absolute assurance that he’ll regret coming here and wanting very badly to turn back to the peace and solitude of his apartment. But then he sees Mark standing alone in the front yard and fiddling with his fingers in the way that he’s wont to when nervous. Mark catches him approaching and breaks into a smile, waving energetically as if it will beckon him faster. When Jinyoung is in close enough proximity, Mark wraps his arms around him in a bone-crushing hug, which he would have complained about had he not known it was a sign of relief: Mark has his arms pinned to his sides, however, so he can only pat his friend weakly in return.

Mark’s smile falls somewhat when they pull away and he’s able to inspect Jinyoung more closely: “Any reason you chose to attend a college house party in a turtleneck and slacks?” Jinyoung petulantly rolls his eyes before replying, “Any reason it surprises you when I’ve never worn a t-shirt in public before? I can go back home to change but just so you’re aware I’m sure I won’t feel like coming back.” Mark meets his defiant sarcasm by raising one freshly threaded eyebrow, and then sighs in resignation because it’s clear to the both of them that Jinyoung’s mere presence far outweighs the significance of Jinyoung’s clothing choices. 

“Thank you for coming, Jinyoung,” Mark proffers in a now sincere and not combative tone, then links their arms and ushers them onto the quaking porch. The ornately engraved wooden door thumps outward, as if unable to contain the frenetic energy inside, and Jinyoung is momentarily fearful it will give from its hinges and bash him in the forehead. But before he can dwell on it any further Mark is turning the knob and the last thing that he registers is his friend saying “Here we go,” and then his whole  _ being  _ is assaulted by a cacophony of sensations that makes him instantly nauseated and wanting to pass out or run for the hills.  _ Dear god. _

_ Sight _ — challengingly he may add, they weave through a thick crowd of their peers in various states of sobriety and public decency, moving in various states of coordination to the beat; the house is also dimly lit, rendering it even more difficult for Mark and Jinyoung to navigate their way through the expanse of space that is the Wang living room.  _ Sound _ — there’s some urban EDM playlist loudly emanating from a number of speakers and painfully barraging his untrained ears; and through it all is an undertone of discordant buzzing generated by groups of teenagers attempting to intimately converse over the drone of heavy bass.  _ Smell _ — perhaps most repulsive to Jinyoung (and trust, his eyes and ears are far from having the time of their lives) is the thick blend of sweat, stale alcohol, and cheap cologne that permeates his nostrils; he’s sure there’s also the distinct smell of vomit in the mix and feels both pity and annoyance at whoever already puked their guts out this early in the night.  _ Feel _ — he resolutely clings to Mark as they shove through the mass of raving bodies, but every now and then he’ll feel the sweat of someone’s back through the material of his turtleneck and Jinyoung is just so overwhelmed right now he can’t wait to be somewhere less stifling and less disparate from his natural peaceful habitat. 

Thankfully they reach the kitchen, which is relatively free of the ruckus of the living room. There are only a few people moving to and fro to collect refreshments, with the odd pair in a corner attempting more private conversation. Mark rummages through one of the multiple coolers on the floor in a designated area in the kitchen, and retrieves then uncaps two different bottles, offering him the one containing brightly colored liquid: a nice, tame, pink vodka lemonade. Jinyoung is still visibly reeling from the effort of doing a Moses in that sea of frenzied people, and Mark squeezes his shoulder in a bid for comfort. “Don’t worry, Jinyoung, we don’t have to go back out there.”

“Then what’s the point of you being here at your boyfriend’s party if no one will know anyway?”   
  


“I came here for Jackson, not for publicity — he appreciates that I’m here, and someone’s got to look after his wasted ass when all this is over.” Mark smiles shyly, fondness shining obviously in his eyes.  _ It’s repulsive _ .

Sure enough Jackson barges into the kitchen then and instantly launches himself at Mark for a hug. Mark raises a hand to evade Jackson’s exaggerated, juvenile kissy faces, but there’s no real effort there and he eventually acquiesces to a kiss on the cheek. 

When Mark had first told him he and Jackson were dating, he was thoroughly shocked — not even because he wasn’t aware that they knew each other, but because he couldn’t imagine them together, with their personalities so starkly opposite. Mark, like Jinyoung, was quiet and reserved, and Jinyoung had never seen himself with someone so outgoing that it stunned him to discover Mark dating the very definition of outgoing. But as he’d listened to Mark’s tales and personally observed the course of their relationship, Jinyoung learned to appreciate this difference in their demeanors. He’ll vehemently deny it to anyone but now and again he finds himself imagining a relationship like his friend’s, with someone who’ll draw him out of his bubble and show him more of the world, which Jinyoung would have been otherwise too apprehensive to explore on his own. “You can go with Jackson if you want, Mark.”

Mark faces him then, evidently surprised by the proposition. Jinyoung knows he’ll politely turn him down so he beats him to it. “Don’t worry about me, Mark. I can entertain myself, and I’ll just head home after a while.” Mark still has his eyes on Jinyoung, unspokenly inquiring if he’s really sure of this decision and assuring he doesn’t mind staying with him. Jinyoung nods affirmatively to the silent question, and watches Jackson enthusiastically steer his boyfriend back in the direction of the party. 

Curious, Jinyoung himself goes to the entryway, deliberating whether to actually be a regular college student for once and mingle with his peers. But then he is immediately assaulted with the onslaught of sensations from which he’d earlier escaped, so  _ nawp he’s staying in the kitchen _ . He looks outside into the invitingly serene yard as he finishes his bottle of pink vodka lemonade. And then he fishes a beer from one of the coolers and steps out onto the back porch. 

Jinyoung is greeted by the stirrings of a breeze and he finds it a pleasant deviation from the stale warmth indoors. He settles on the floorboards against the wall, the sounds and the movement of the party but a faint thrum from where he’s seated. He relaxes into the languor of solitude and relative peace, taking intermittent sips of beer and letting the alcohol dull his senses and nudge him progressively further into this newfound introvert’s haven amidst the ongoing festivities inside. 

It is in this contented silence and void of time that he finishes the beer in his hands, the condensation on the glass a moist sheen against his palm. He moves back into the kitchen with a single-minded purpose and then returns to his previous position on the back porch with two bottles of alcohol this time. The thought of going home flits transiently through his consciousness and he decides to maybe do that after exhausting the bottles in his hands. He alternates between a pungently bitter stout and a fruity vodka cocktail, and he reasons it’s just his curiosity giving way to innocuous experimentation when his mind traitorously cautions him against this highly un-Jinyoung behavior. 

He doesn’t know how long it took but he eventually finishes both bottles, settling them on the floor beside him in a neat pile with the others. He rises from his seat and  _ oh boy what is this feeling _ finds himself swaying on his feet. He remains static for a moment to allow his head to clear and mildly panics when it does...absolutely nothing — his brain staying muddled and the world out of focus.  _ Help _ , he needs to find Mark. He feels instantly regretful of tonight’s indiscretions as he treads his way back into and through the house on unsteady footing. He thinks himself absolutely stupid to have experimented with alcohol, and especially alone, in a home that isn’t his. 

He makes it to the living room, where the party is raging as wildly as it did last he was here, and he nudges his way through in an unparalleled show of effort. Thankfully he retains enough sense to aim for the stairs, which will provide him the best vantage point for spotting his friend on the dance floor. And if he isn’t there he’ll probably be in one of the rooms on the second floor, never mind that he’ll undoubtedly be with Jackson, and likely in a compromising activity. Anyway Jinyoung is so drunk he probably will forget tomorrow whatever indecent display it is that he’s about to walk into.

But as he’s ascending the stairs, finding Mark becomes the least of his concern when his stomach suddenly and violently informs him that it’s about to regurgitate whatever disgusting mix of contents it’s currently storing. Panicked and mortified, Jinyoung wills his body to move as fast as he can onto the second floor and down the hallway in search of a bathroom. He finds one on the second door to the right and before he can even shut the door he’s bending over the toilet and just letting it gush. 

He’s never been this embarrassed in his life before, he thinks as he runs a tissue across his lips and tastes the lingering acrid residue on his tongue. But he’s also never been this relieved because he does in all honesty feel significantly better than when all that alcohol had still been in his system. He’s also relieved that he actually made his way to a bathroom and escaped the shame of accidentally spilling his guts out on the Wangs’ carpeted staircase.

He doesn’t know how long he stays there just slumped beside the toilet bowl when he hears someone knock on the bathroom door and tentatively peek through.  _ And oh god this guy is hot — why is he crossing paths with a hot guy when he’s literally sagged against a toilet bowl and not completely there?? _

“Hi, you alright there?” The stranger is still only halfway into the bathroom, gently proffering the question, features shy and conveying sincere concern.  _ Oh god he’s hot  _ and _ nice, and I’m sagged against a toilet bowl and my breath smells like stomach acid _ . “I’ve had better days...but I think I’ve expelled all that I have to.” The other boy chuckles and steps fully inside, seeming to debate between joining Jinyoung on the tiled floor and retaining his dignity. He chooses to stand and braces his arms on the sink behind him. “I’m Jaebum, Jackson’s roommate.”

Jinyoung startles at the information, looking up at Jaebum in some disbelief. “I didn’t know Jackson had a roommate...I’m Jinyoung by the way, Mark’s best friend.” He briefly contemplates offering a hand to shake but thinks better of it because he hasn’t gotten up from the floor to wash them since puking.

“He usually stays in this house, but he shares an apartment with me for when he’s too tired from fencing to drive all the way here...On the contrary,  _ I’d _ known Mark has a best friend who studies literature — he’s mentioned you but I just haven’t seen you before. Do you sometimes third wheel on their dates too?”

Jinyoung giggles and coyly nods in assent. “I’ve got to benefit too from Mark’s new sugar daddy.” His joke sends Jaebum into a mild laughing fit and Jinyoung is caught off guard by how breathtakingly brilliant he looks when he smiles that wide. It doesn’t help that Jinyoung is already dizzy from all that alcohol he ingested tonight. The drop in his mood must have shown on his face because, when he stops laughing, Jaebum asks him again if he’s alright. Jinyoung assures him that he is but that he’s still feeling a little lightheaded, so Jaebum offers a hand and pulls him up. 

Jinyoung wobbles slightly, legs feeling cramped from having sat on the bathroom floor for who knows how long. Jaebum steadies him with his strong hands on his forearms, and even through his sleeves Jinyoung feels the warmth of his touch. Their eyes meet before they simultaneously look away, bashfully unprepared for such intense eye contact, but not displeased.

“Do you want me to take you home?” And Jinyoung doesn’t want to impose but _ oh god yes he wants to go home: _ it was why he looked for Mark in the first place. He nods and Jaebum wraps one arm around his waist as he guides him out of the bathroom, down the stairs, and past the still highly energetic crowd. Once outside, Jaebum asks for his address and books a ride share, then sends a text to both Jackson and Mark while they wait for the car to arrive. 

“Why aren’t you drunk anyway, Jaebum?” he asks what’s been on his mind since the two had met. He thinks it’s unfair that he feels like dying and Jaebum, on the other hand, looks like he’d gotten through the party unscathed and still unbelievably gorgeous. He may or may not have been pouting when he asks. He can feel Jaebum’s stare against his profile before he chuckles and replies, “I actually just arrived because I didn’t feel like going in the first place. I was looking for Jackson when I glanced into the second door to the right and saw you slumped on the floor. I wanted to make sure you were fine.”

Jinyoung looks up at him then and sees the same sincere concern in Jaebum’s eyes as when he’d walked into the bathroom and asked if he was alright. Only now there’s something else in that look and Jinyoung can’t quite say what it is but it does make him blush.

Their ride arrives and Jaebum guides him inside, even buckling his seatbelt for him although Jinyoung is conscious enough to do it himself. They settle into a comfortable silence and, he’ll blame it on the alcohol, Jinyoung daringly rests his head on the other’s shoulder. He feels Jaebum momentarily startle at the sudden weight on his shoulder but then he leans even closer to Jinyoung and softly caresses his hair, as Jinyoung drifts into a placid state of semi-consciousness.

Jaebum gently prods him awake when they reach their destination, and akin to before he helps Jinyoung  ease out of the car onto the sidewalk. His hand finds its way to Jinyoung’s back as they slowly make their way up the stairs to his floor and as Jinyoung briefly fumbles with his keys while he tries to unlock the door to his apartment. Jaebum doesn’t leave his side as they enter his thankfully tidy unit and when he goes into his room to gracelessly plonk himself onto the bed. 

“Don’t you want to change into more comfortable clothes first?” Jinyoung finds himself already sinking into the comfort of his mattress and, too lazy to change, playfully shakes his head no without looking up from where he’s buried his face in his pillow. He hears Jaebum chuckle a few feet from his bed before he’s saying good night and Jinyoung’s ears register his footsteps as he turns back to leave.

Again he’ll blame it on the alcohol but he asks Jaebum to stay, under his breath, but the hitch in Jaebum’s breathing indicates he hears it just the same. Jinyoung rolls over onto his back and cheekily pats the space beside him to beckon to the other boy. Jaebum smiles timidly then shakes his head at the offer. “I’ll take the couch. Good night, Jinyoung.” Jinyoung isn’t actually too disappointed so he just smiles up at Jaebum and drifts to sleep as the door closes — Jaebum’s smiling face, from where he’s taking a final peek, the last sight that crosses his eyes. 

When Jinyoung awakes the sun is high in the sky and shining brightly through the slits between his closed blinds. His head is thrumming, and it’s uncomfortable but he’s had worse headaches before and he’s glad it isn’t the throbbing hangover he’d previously imagined would punish him after his night of liquor experimentation. He turns his head to the side and there on his bedside table are a glass of water and a blister pack of paracetamol, which he’s sure Jaebum had left out of consideration and anticipation of this exact situation. He slowly pushes himself into a sitting position and downs the lukewarm water, only now realizing how parched he’d previously been. He foregoes the painkillers, however, and pads to his door, the soft sounds of foreign but pleasant singing growing progressively louder as he opens the door and steps into the hall.

_ Sight _ — Jaebum, still in last night’s clothes, is nonchalantly frying eggs in his kitchenette. Jinyoung quietly observes the mellow cheer on his face as he prods in the pan with a spatula.  _ Sound _ — Jaebum softly sings the verse to some r&b song that Jinyoung faintly remembers from an earlier decade. His voice is beautiful, with a suave tone unlike any he’s ever heard.  _ Smell _ — the distinct and appetizing aroma of bacon emanates from the kitchen, and Jinyoung smells before he sees the small pile of golden brown strips resting in a plate on the counter.  _ Feel _ — Jaebum finally realizes his presence and smiles gently, eyes crinkling and perfect teeth showing, and tells him that breakfast will be ready any moment now. Jinyoung mouths his thanks and settles into one of the two chairs around his dining table. And as he gazes at Jaebum continuing to cook, Jinyoung is overwhelmed by all these different, many unnamed, feelings permeating his being. 

  
He blames — no,  _ thanks _ — the alcohol then, for this, whatever  _ this _ is. But hey it’s a beautiful morning, an auspicious start to his day, and right now he’ll just enjoy this beginning and the promise of whatever is to come. //

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is it a college house party if it's not a jackson wang party


	4. hear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mild angst! but really nothing major (i think, i hope) this is still a happy, hopeful household :))

The sky outside is an endless black opacity as Jaebum takes a seat in one of the many empty benches near his boarding gate. The bright fluorescent lights of the airport are particularly blinding, the artificial overhead lamps the sole source of illumination in this microcosm of LA at 4 am. He’d made the decision to leave just yesterday, still shocked and reeling from this recent disappointing turn of his life. Never the expert at confronting his emotions, he’d found himself turning on his laptop and booking a one-way ticket to his hometown — his hometown, which hasn’t been  _ home _ for years, after Jaebum packed his bags and made the move to LA, a city on the other side of the world, without so much as a second of hesitation or remorse for the life he was leaving behind. 

It’s poetic, he muses, like a foreboding of what was to come a decade after, to this — only in reverse, packing his bags and flying to Seoul, a city on the other side of the world, without so much as a second of serious contemplation or remorse for the life he was leaving behind.

He still has stuff in LA, an apartment with rent and bills still running, and housing the various items that served as puzzle pieces to create the image of his life that he had cultivated in his many years here. He isn’t planning on moving back to Seoul anyway, at least not right now, just needed to get out of this city and had found his heart yearning for the comfort and simplicity of earlier times. He hasn’t even informed his parents, not wanting to give an alibi but not prepared to tell the story he hasn’t fully come to grips with himself. Maybe Korea will allow him to process what he’s feeling, when he revisits familiar places as a tourist and not as a restless teen who dreams of escaping. At the very least it will distract him and he won’t glance up to sights and sceneries that are painful reminders of memories he’d rather forget.

The sky has started to lighten and he can now see outside at the tarmac and various airplanes waiting to take off the ground. The undisturbed quiet gives way to a buzz of chatter and electric energy as more and more passengers stream through the boarding gate and settle down as they wait to board. There’s an eclectic mix of people joining him on the thirteen-hour flight — lone travelers and families of five, Koreans who vacationed here in the States and Korean-Americans vacationing in Seoul, and persons of various nationalities — people with various backgrounds and intents, strangers, forming a temporary community miles high in the air by virtue of a shared boarding pass.

A Korean-American couple and their two toddlers, fraternal twins from what he can tell, harriedly settle in the bench opposite, setting suitcases and duffel bags and their children’s backpacks in a heap on the tiled floor. The girl just quietly, sleepily rests in her father’s lap,  her dainty figure protectively bracketed in his arms even as he himself looks in need of a nap. The boy, meanwhile, trudges to Jaebum as his mother debates whether or not to retrieve him in fear of his being a bother. Jaebum shyly smiles and waves to her, hoping to convey it’s no problem, and she nods in understanding but continues to fix her eyes on her son in anticipation of pulling him back. The boy glances up at Jaebum with a curious look on his face, eyes drifting everywhere as he seems to studiously analyze the man he’s seeing. Jaebum smiles but suddenly seems unsettled. With his particular features, the multiple piercings dotting both ears, his unstyled copper hair, and baggy all-black ensemble, Jaebum is sure he’s not the sort of adult the child is used to and he wonders how the boy will take to his profuse unfamiliarity.

And then the boy breaks into the most impossibly brilliant smile and offers a hand out as he greets him hello in both English and Korean, as if unsure which language Jaebum speaks and assuring him he knows both. What a fascinating three-year-old, muses Jaebum, as he takes the boy’s hand with his fingers and gives it a gentle shake. Jaebum decides to respond in English and introduces himself as JB, to which the boy replies with his own English name. “How old are you, mister JB?” he tentatively asks, and Jaebum is both surprised and not that his age had been the first question he had wanted to ask. He replies that he’s 32 and incites the most comically exaggerated gasp from the boy. “You’re  _ that _ old?”

Jaebum chuckles good-naturedly as, in his periphery, he sees the boy’s mother bringing a hand up to her mouth in scandal. His age, especially in the wake of the most recent disappointing development in his life, had been a source of private disgruntlement. But in the face of this little boy’s innocent incredulity he finds himself merely amused and maybe a little silly — yes he was 32, but what is it really other than a number, a neutral matter of fact? It doesn’t otherwise bother him, he feels no particularly different than he did a few months prior when he had still been 31, and from the boy’s surprised reaction he doesn’t look his age as well. So really why does he insist it holds that much power over his life? Adults like him don’t normally respond well to, more so, welcome inquiries on their age, but maybe in this specific moment in his life it’s a serendipity he’d needed. Feeling humorous, he exaggeratedly pouts and feigns hurt, defending, “it’s not  _ that _ old.” The little boy intuitively sees through the pretense and giggles, hiding his laughter behind a hand.

Sincerely entertained and fascinated by the boy, Jaebum gestures for him to occupy the seat beside him. The boy nods and Jaebum helps him pull his body up and situate himself on the metal bench. The boy voluntarily narrates the reason for their family’s trip — they were visiting his grandparents, who had yet to meet him and her twin sister — and how excited he is to fly on an airplane for the first time, see his relatives, and explore a new city. Jaebum listens attentively, nodding encouragingly at select points in the story, and finds his mood lightening somewhat from when he’d arrived in the airport and before he’d met this radiant enigma of a boy. His childlike excitement is inescapably infectious, and for the first time since he spontaneously booked this flight he feels like he’s  _ heading _ somewhere instead of cowardly running away.

The airline crew announce the start of boarding and the boy is beckoned by his mother to prepare because, naturally, passengers with children were given priority in such matters. The boy looks sad to go, then in a show of innocent impulse wraps his tiny arms around Jaebum’s neck. The sudden movement and the weight of the boy against his torso has him losing his breath for a second but he gladly reciprocates the affection, hugging this precious little angel with fervor and playfully ruffling his hair. The boy jumps down from the bench and runs to his mother, who then straps and adjusts the boy’s backpack on his shoulders. The family of four make their way to the boarding gate and the boy waves him a cheery goodbye before turning away. Jaebum too starts fixing his luggage and notes that the sky is now a soft pink and blue as he proffers his boarding pass at the gate then enters the walkway that will lead him to his flight.

He gets a window seat, relieved he doesn’t have to be squashed between strangers and slightly hoping the two other passengers in his row know each other and will leave him alone. On his last long-haul flight he’d been seated beside an ahjumma who, when she realized he was Korean, had animatedly gone into stories of their home country (which she  _ incorrectly _ assumed he’d appreciate) and perkily questioned him on his career and personal life like a middle-aged aunt you had not seen in a long time and made it her mission to learn everything that transpired in the interim. He actually mentioned he was dating a man, hoping it would dissuade her from probing further and continuing conversation. She did seem startled, and Jaebum thought he had accomplished his intent, but after a momentary regaining of composure she had insistently inquired about this man he was with. ( _ “Is he handsome? Oh of course he must be handsome to date such a good-looking guy as yourself. What does he do? How did you meet?” _ ) 

A part of him was pleasantly surprised that this otherwise conventional ahjumma was so open to the idea of him in a relationship with another man, but for the most part he was frustrated that his plan had backfired and the woman continued to talk his ears off with a renewed surge of interest. He had never in all his life been quite as drained as he’d been when he walked out that airplane, feeling he might just drop there on the tarmac in exhaustion and in a sudden strong need for sleep.

He stows his duffel in the overhead compartment then sits and tucks his backpack underneath the seat in front. He deftly buckles his seatbelt and relaxes against his seat, wondering if he should attempt some shut-eye even though he was energetically awake. Lacking for any occupation he closes his eyes nevertheless, if at least to rest them. He feels a person slip into the seat beside him and opens one eye to subtly peek at his in-flight neighbor. The first thing he registers is a baby blue cashmere sweater tucked into a pair of slacks as the man bends over to secure his luggage under the seat in front. When he sits back up he brushes his hair off his face, and the first thought that spontaneously registers in Jaebum’s mind —

Is that the man looks  _ ethereal _ .

Like if there ever were a Korean production of Lord of the Rings, this man would be a definite elf. His skin is impossibly fair and unblemished; with thick, strong eyebrows, long, delicate lashes, kind, brown eyes, and voluptuous, pink lips. Before the man can notice him staring, Jaebum shuts his eyes back. He definitely isn’t keen on meeting a love interest on his trip, much less when it hasn’t even started and they’ve yet to actually leave LA.

Still Jaebum allows himself one last peek at the man beside him, as he too settles placidly into his seat, before he closes his eyes and compels himself to rest. He remains partly conscious when the flight attendants execute their educational safety routine and when the plane ascends. He hears the wheels of the refreshments cart pushed down the aisle and starts mentally deciding between apple and orange juice. He also listens in to the stewardess as she asks the rows in front whether they’d like sausage and scrambled eggs or french toast. When she makes it to their row, Jaebum finally opens his eyes so she doesn’t think she was sleeping and roll off to the next row without giving him his breakfast. It’s his seatmate’s turn to decide between orange and apple juice but, with the most politely serious expression on his face he replies instead with “white wine.” Jaebum did not expect this meek-looking man in a cashmere sweater to adamantly ask for alcohol at 6 am and he involuntarily chuckles at his response. It doesn’t escape the man beside him, who turns in his direction and gives him a teasing eyebrow raise. In not so many words he conveys “ _ You got a problem with that, bitch? _ ” and, cheekily, Jaebum too asks the stewardess for white wine and a cup of water. Also he decides on french toast.

When the flight attendant moves forward to the next row, the man fully turns to him with a smile and wine cup lifted. Jaebum amusedly indulges him and clicks their clear plastic cups in a toast. He watches the man sip at his wine then contentedly sigh before he places his cup back on the partitioned tray on his lap. “It’s five o’clock somewhere” he reasons good-humoredly and then flashes Jaebum a blinding smile. “Hi, Park Jinyoung,” he introduces, extending a hand out to shake. “Hi, Im Jaebum,” he replies, accepting the hand out to shake. He wonders if these introductions are a prelude to a conversation that Jaebum had not anticipated. And then he wonders if he’ll actually feel annoyed if they were.

“What brings you to Seoul, Jaebum?” asks Jinyoung as he cuts into his breakfast sausages. He starts on his own breakfast while attempting to formulate a response that isn’t a lie but that leaves out the fundamental intent, which he has no plans on sharing with a stranger he met on a plane. “I’m taking a break from work.”

“So you live in LA?” He nods. “Oh so we’re pretty similar. I guess you can also say I’m taking a break from work. I’m visiting my parents after ages.”

“Visiting your parents is your idea of taking a break?” Jaebum says it as a joke (so, it’s a half-truth) and hopes Jinyoung doesn’t take it as a slight to his filial devotion.

He snorts. This outwardly poised and elegant man flat out snorts and Jaebum finds himself continually surprised by this charming enigma. “Let me rephrase that then: I’m taking a break from work  _ and _ visiting my parents.” He seems to be contemplating something, if his hollow stare in front is any indication. He then snaps out of his reverie and faces Jaebum, shyly and quietly confessing, “I’m actually coming out to them.”

Jaebum is taken aback for no other reason than that Jinyoung, this man he’d only met five minutes ago, trusts him enough to share what he’s sure is a deeply personal decision and intimate facet of his travel to Korea. He wills himself to reply in fear of appearing disgruntled by the disclosure of Jinyoung’s sexuality, but he finds himself regrettably speechless. Jinyoung, fortunately, simply quirks his lips in a tentative smile and continues. 

“I left Korea after high school because I had an uncle in LA who wanted me to study in the States. I’m the youngest and only son in our family so of course my parents were reluctant to send me off, but I had always excelled in academics and they couldn’t dispute it was a great opportunity. So there I was, 18 and moving to the other side of the world. I went to college and then after that I entered medical school, and then after that I entered a residency program, then a fellowship after that, and it had just been so easy to convince my parents I was focused on furthering my career. But now, after so many years of studying, I’m finally starting my practice and becoming financially stable. So of course they’ve gotten to asking, ‘When will you settle down, Jinyoung?’ and I can no longer field their questions with my repertoire of alibis.” Jaebum sees him start to get emotional at the revelation, and he still doesn’t know what to say but he knows he wants to encourage Jinyoung instead of look an apathetic stranger. So he ever so gently places a hand on top of Jinyoung’s and squeezes it in companionable comfort. Jinyoung’s eyes widen slightly at the touch and then he looks up at Jaebum, with the beginning of tears prickling his eyes, and offers a warm smile. Jaebum thinks he sees some gratitude there.

“I guess LA was a great place to embrace my sexuality, because I’d already known when I was in middle school but I never thought to come out there, you know. Then I went to college here and yeah there’s still a handful of homophobic pricks but there was a community of people like me. It was just like this dam of repressed emotions broke inside me, and I felt safe and accepted and open to explore and embrace who I was. And because my family were a continent and half a day away it was so easy to hide it from them — when they asked how I was I could always talk about school and talk about LA, and when they asked about girls I could always say I was busy and they’d actually be proud that I was taking my education seriously.” 

“I dated then broke up with men but I didn’t tell my parents, because I guess some part of me was scared they would pull me out of LA, that they’d think I was just influenced by my surroundings and force me on the next flight home. But they can’t do that now. I don’t have to worry about that now. Now however, I worry not that they’ll take me back against my will, but that they’ll send me away. I’m sure the questioning will only keep intensifying from now on though, so I just have to wear my big boy shoes and break it to them that their son is gay. So wish me luck, Im Jaebum.” He turns to Jaebum as he says it, and there’s still an evident sadness and fear in his eyes, but there’s also a defiant optimism in them and Jaebum thinks him admirable for that.

“I wish you all the luck, Park Jinyoung. And I hope that, if your parents  _ are _ surprised and disappointed, they choose to see beyond that and appreciate how successful and wonderful their son turned out to be...But above all I hope that whatever happens  _ you  _ remember how wonderful you turned out to be.” Jaebum stares straight into his eyes when he tells him this, and by the smile that overtakes Jinyoung’s face he knows he’d seen and appreciated the earnestness in his support. Jinyoung mouths “thank you” and Jaebum doesn’t hear it but it’s there all the same.

They both turn back to the front and settle into their seats after the emotional upheaval, Jaebum’s hand still placidly on top of Jinyoung’s on the armrest between them. He thinks it’s only fair, after Jinyoung had opened up, that he do the same. Reciprocity aside, there’s a humanity and quiet confidence in Jinyoung that compels him to share his own story, knowing Jinyoung will hear but won’t judge. And maybe here, thousands of feet in the air, with a person that the universe had arranged he know for at least these next twelve hours, he can start sorting through the labyrinth of feelings and pain that until then he had stolidly remained at the entrance to, knowing and dreading he’ll lose himself trying to navigate the complexity of his turmoil.

“I just came out of a six-year relationship,” he whispers, still facing forward. Jinyoung hears and leans to him, conveying his attention if he decides to continue. He does. “We’re both music producers. I met him when he moved to our company, and from the moment he came into the studio to introduce himself I swear I was smitten. Then we clicked. And I’d always been a skeptic — I guess I was too scared to be a romantic — but when we were together I found myself believing that you  _ could _ have a soulmate, and I was fully convinced, ‘yeap, he’s the guy.’ We argued, it was inevitable from how passionate and competitive we were in our craft, but we always made it through. And I thought those fights would dampen my newfound sentimentality but they only reinforced my idea that we were meant for each other. To this day the happiest I’ve ever been was when he moved into my apartment — we were just unpacking his boxes, I was dividing the closet to make space for both of our clothes, he was hanging photo frames of his family, but all those small almost trivial details made me feel like we were really making a home together.”

In a mirror of their earlier interaction, this time it’s Jinyoung who squeezes his hand in comfort, both of them knowing this is where the story branches off into unpleasant territory. “It started with the little things, it always does, peeves about the other’s habits: one person forgot to start the dishwasher, the other forgot to buy milk. The peeves turned to microaggressions turned to grudges, the reminders led to nagging led to full-on fights. At first we would always try to make up, and then neither wanted to act the bigger person anymore, out of pride, out of exhaustion, out of both. And when the only thing keeping us together was the length of time we’d been together, we both knew in our hearts that it was the beginning of the end. Then the other day...we reached the end. That time we were both sure we couldn’t resolve it, and that it truly was goodbye. He packed all his stuff and left the next day, and as soon as that door locked in its frame I booked a one-way ticket to Seoul. So here I am, flying to the other side of the world because I’m too afraid to process my emotions, afraid that everywhere I look in LA I’ll be reminded of the love I bid goodbye.”

He only realizes he’s crying when Jinyoung offers him tissue. It’s honestly the first time since the breakup that he’d cried, and the tears feel like a physical manifestation of him starting to acknowledge the feelings he’d tried so hard to suppress. 

“Maybe this  _ is _ your way of processing your emotions, and maybe you need time away from LA so that when you go back you’ll see it again as the home that it’s become, beyond the love you bid goodbye.” Jaebum nods and mouths “thank you” and Jinyoung doesn’t hear it but he smiles, and they both know it’s there all the same.

They continue to talk, only about lighter matters this time, but the intimate confessions of the morning have been inevitably taxing that both find themselves sleeping right after the in-flight lunch. They both had their second cup of wine, and they cheerily clicked them together to a toast of “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”

Jaebum stirs awake as the plane begins to descend then gently wakes Jinyoung just as the last of the other passengers exit the aircraft. He wakes slowly then smiles up at Jaebum when he becomes fully conscious. They leave the aircraft together and neither have luggage they checked in so they walk out into the airport in companionable silence. They face each other at the exit, just before they each hail a cab to their respective destinations, and shake hands like they did on the plane this morning when they met.

“Good luck, Park Jinyoung.”

  
  
“Good luck, Im Jaebum.”

And then they’re passing through the doors and Jinyoung is getting into a taxi but Jaebum chooses to linger just a little while longer.

He looks back into the airport and takes in the sight of all the people running to and fro. He wonders which of them are here on an adventure — to visit an exciting new place, to see more of the world — and he wonders which are here coming home. Then he wonders if he’s on an adventure or coming home. Maybe he’s both. 

But one thing he’s now sure of is that he was meant to be here, to have booked that flight and to have taken that plane. 

  
And as he’s getting into a cab and giving the driver his destination in a language he hasn’t spoken in so long, he feels like he isn’t running away...he’s running  _ to _ , and he’s grateful he had someone  hear him and hold his hand along the way. //

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the first in a pair of travel-themed oneshots (they're still completely independent tho!)
> 
> airport musings based on larissa’s wedding vows from the carrie diaries: https://vimeo.com/85621851


	5. here

Jinyoung finds an empty bench and settles down, setting his coffee beside where he’s seated as he reaches into his backpack and retrieves a book.

He’d woken up early this morning and the museum doesn’t open till 9, but he decided he might as well already start his day. He whiled his time in the shower, taking advantage of the unlimited hot water at a hotel. It was a pleasure he had to limit to five minutes when he was still in university and living in a dorm, on a regulated monthly allowance. He dons a black turtleneck and beige slacks, but makes sure to also stuff his jacket into his bag. It’s January in Taipei and, especially this early in the day, the wind can be particularly biting when you step outside. Sure enough it is, he discovers as he exits the lobby, and he immediately reaches for and zips up his outerwear. 

The sky is a placid blue, just starting to brighten, and shops are only now unfurling their steel rolling and preparing to open for business. He passes a streetside stall selling steamed buns and politely gestures for two. The lovely old lady running the stand smiles warmly at him as she offers the buns in a thin, clear-plastic baggy, which Jinyoung exchanges for a handful of coins. Street food is always a highlight on his trips — he marvels at how with just a few bucks he’s able to purchase the most flavorful, and the most authentic, food in a city. 

He reaches into the plastic for a bun and endures the heat of it as it stings his fingers, then tears the dumpling in half, noting the juices lazily running down and permeating the bread around a succulent pork-and-herb mince filling. The aroma of ginger and coriander waft upward, and the delicious sight and smell of such a creation has him helplessly salivating. He blows then bites into the appetizing morsel, theatrically sighing in bliss as the bright, comforting flavors caress his taste buds. The lady sees his reaction and chuckles good-naturedly, asking “good?,” to which he replies with an energetic thumbs up. 

He makes for the tray of condiments and starts with a tentative dollop each of hoisin and chili sauce. On his first day here he had gone around Ximending and, being a spice enthusiast, poured a liberal amount of chili sauce into his cup of  _ misua _ . It didn’t take more than one bite to realize the gravity of his mistake and it was a testament to his stubborn tenacity that he had managed to finish his serving. From then on he’d made sure not to underestimate the potency of streetside chili sauces, and started with a meager drop instead of a heaping spoonful. The sauces accentuate the base flavors of the bun and create a riveting balance of sweet, salty, spicy, and umami. He goes through both buns in an excited haste, tempered by a desire to relish each mouthful. He bundles the plastic wrapping into a neat little ball and drops it in the trash bin before smiling at the lady in acknowledgment and continuing on his way.

The museum he plans on visiting is only a few blocks from where he’s staying. He glances down at his watch and notes he still has an abundant amount of free time before the doors open. Luckily the museum stands at the entrance of a sprawling park — acres of meticulously manicured green lawn studded with foliage, pagodas, ponds, and walkways. Joyfully satiated by the two steamed buns he’d just finished and thrilled at the prospect of so much space to explore, he strolls through the garden with a pep in his step. Some time in his walk the sun starts to shine in earnest and he sheds off his jacket then folds and drapes it over an arm. He lets his eyes absorb the vastness of his surroundings and inhales the clean, crisp, early morning air, which is a pleasant surprise at the center of a bustling metropolis such as Taipei. He finds this integration of nature and asphalt, of traditional and modern, an impressive facet of the city, and he’d continually mused through his trip that if he lived here he’d find plenty of small spaces to run and escape to amidst the stressful hustle of daily life.

Jinyoung isn’t much compelled to take photos at every turn, and even if he doesn’t preserve the image of his present whereabouts he hopes he’ll retain memories of the feeling. He’s unhurriedly strolled through the entire park but still has a full hour before he can enter the museum. That’s when he decides to grab a hot cup of coffee from the nearby Starbucks before settling on a bench opposite a miniature pond and taking his book out, which he’d brought to his trip for downtime such as this. He’s thoroughly gripped by the story he reads, and the atmosphere of tranquility enrobing the park further allows him to fully engross himself in the novel he’s perusing. He’s a couple of chapters in when he glances again at his watch, and reads a quarter past nine. He packs his book and wears his backpack, then finds a trash bin for his empty coffee cup, before he finally passes through the open doors of the stately museum.

He first inspects the architecture of the main hall, noting the marble columns and sculptured figures, the painted floors, and the exquisite stained-glass ceiling through which he evinces the gentle blue of the surrounding skies. He probably spends an inordinate amount of time standing there in the middle of the hallway, face turned upward as he studies the movement of light through the variegated panes of glass. Then all of a sudden he is jolted from behind. The man who’d collided into him is chanting apologies as Jinyoung turns to face him. The man...is frankly beautiful. His feline eyes and sculptured face paint the image of a brooding man with a mystery, an aura further accentuated by his casual all-black ensemble in which his broad shoulders are a stark highlight. His hands grip a professional camera (so he’s an  _ artistic _ , brooding man with a mystery) and Jinyoung wonders if maybe he were fiddling with it and so didn’t see him planted on the floor in front of him. He discovers, as the man profusely apologizes, that that _had_ been the case. “No worries, it was partly my fault for standing in the middle of a walkway.” The man appears to be debating whether to respond, a curious look in his eyes that Jinyoung fails to decipher, but then chooses to sheepishly apologize one final time before turning to leave.

Jinyoung, though the action had gotten himself into an impromptu interaction, stands still in his place after the handsome photographer had left. Sure he’d noticed many an attractive face in his outings here in Taipei, but he hadn’t expected one up close and quite literally crashing into his life. He shakes his head at the naively sentimental thought and turns right to the first exhibit. 

He enters a spacious room and instantly remarks on the bright pop of color. The room is only the first of many in a themed hall, each one painted in a vivid pink or orange or blue from ceiling to floor. This is the entomology exhibit, he reads from the pamphlet in his hands, celebrating the unique and important interrelation of insects and plants. A white paper tree stands in the center of the room, surrounded by informational material and exhibits caged in glass. Jinyoung gasps at the collection of mounted, preserved butterflies, and studies the intricate patterns and vibrant colors distinguishing a species from the next. He’s still reeling from the complexity and nuance in detail that nature bestowed on such small creatures as these butterflies when he looks up and sees the man from earlier standing off to the side and himself studying the material in front of him.

Jinyoung allows himself to study the man’s profile, which really is a stunning sight to behold. His prominent cheekbones slope down into a sculpted jaw, eyes slanted and fixedly trained on the material he’s reading. Then, as if Jinyoung’s gaze were palpable, the man looks up and in his direction, and for the second time that morning their eyes meet and hold in a mutually mysterious, fascinated dance. It’s Jinyoung who breaks contact, feeling a blush take hold of his features as he looks back down and feigns fascination in the taxidermy butterflies he’d already extensively studied. Through the reflection in the glass case, he sees the man move from his previous spot and approach him from behind, before he ever so gently taps Jinyoung in the shoulder in an expression of tentative inquisition. Jinyoung is glad he’d preempted the approach because otherwise he might have startled at the foreign touch and, god forbid, shoved an elbow into the covered exhibit.

“Hi, I’m Jaebum,” he proffers with a shy smile and outstretched hand. Jinyoung similarly introduces himself, making sure to flash his most brilliant grin, and coolly shakes the other man’s hand. Jaebum seems to be pondering something, the way he did earlier after they’d bumped into each other in the lobby, only this time he takes the plunge and asks Jinyoung, “Would you like to explore the museum together? I won’t chat your ear off if you prefer to silently study the exhibits though.” Jinyoung chuckles slightly at the disclaimer — it’s true that he does silently stroll through museums and fully immerses himself in the concept and feeling of the piece before which he stands. But Jaebum is quietly magnetizing, and for once, the introvert in Jinyoung doesn’t mind sharing his bubble of peaceful personal space. Also, the sincerity in Jaebum's eyes reveals an understanding, as if communicating, “ _ I’m just like you, but I want to take a chance _ .” Jinyoung nods to express his agreement and then walks further into the exhibit, Jaebum understanding the unspoken invite and matching his pace from a comfortably intimate distance beside him.

They examine the other exhibits in the room and Jinyoung, as he’d done a few minutes prior, intermittently studies Jaebum through his reflection in the glass. In his split-second glimpses he evinces an earnest focus in Jaebum when he’s viewing and reading about the pieces. Every now and then Jaebum meets his gaze in the glass, and they sheepishly smile at each other’s reflections before turning away and redirecting their focus to the exhibits. It’s as they move into the next room that Jaebum hesitantly asks Jinyoung about himself, and he takes a moment to compose his narrative. “I just recently earned my literature degree and wanted to do some soul searching abroad to figure out my next step.” 

He considers himself fortunate to have such supportive parents — he remembers being sixteen and preparing to inform them of his desired degree, wondering if they’ll react like his friends’ parents did when they told them they didn’t want to be a doctor, a lawyer, or an engineer. He’d braced himself for the possibility of being chided for a nontraditional career choice: “Yes but what are you going to do with that?” or “Sweetheart that’s a hobby, not a career.” But instead, to his delight, they’d just beamed at him and expressed their confidence in his suitability for the program. He remembers falling into their warm embraces and tearing up, awash in extraordinary gratitude and relief. Even now when he’d told them he was still considering his choices, they’d merely smiled and encouraged him to take some time off to ponder it. Years ago, when Thought Catalog had still pervaded his social media, he had stumbled upon a sentimental millennial article encouraging readers in their twenties to travel abroad on their own at least once. And so, at the precipice of an important life’s decision, Jinyoung had come here to Taipei to explore an exciting new city and, in doing so, inwardly explore the wishes of his heart. “How about you?”

“I’m a photographer traveling here for work — not nearly as exciting a reason as your trip. How long are you here?”

Jinyoung chuckles at the remark: yeah his trip was decidedly romantic. “It’s my last of five days here. I’ve had a great time.” In his periphery he catches the transient shift in Jaebum’s eyes, like he were disappointed by the fact of his imminent leaving. But, as if the moment didn’t happen, Jaebum schools his face into a smile and tells him that he’s glad he enjoyed his holiday. 

They’re but two strangers, two individuals in all the world, whose paths had quite literally collided in a foreign city on an otherwise ordinary January morning. And the nature of this serendipitous interaction begets but a transient moment of fellowship — the joining of two converging lines that will then instantly and irrevocably bifurcate, farther and farther, until the point of their meeting becomes yet a mere triviality in a lifetime’s amassment of memories.  _ Fatedly ephemeral _ . And yet in these few moments they’ve spent together a sentimental optimism has already blossomed and, in their shared glances and fond smiles, Jinyoung evinces the hint of a promise.

For the moment foregoing the disappointment of inevitable parting, they restore the earlier joviality of friendly relations and unhurriedly make their way through the rest of the exhibit and the other halls. The other seasonal exhibit is one on the mysteries of the deep sea and “the exquisite beauty of microfossils.” Again Jinyoung is astounded by the intricacies of nature — how such a mundane and insignificant- seeming pebble, under the revealing lenses of a microscope, can boast such extraordinary and precise detail. From beside him he notices Jaebum expressing  a similar amazement. And as he smiles in wonder Jinyoung sees an unprecedented youthfulness — like under all the black clothes and practiced composure still lies the boy of his earlier years, innocently joyful and brimming with childlike excitement. Maybe it’s the subsequent surge of protectiveness that overtakes him then, or a subconscious desire to imbibe that same brilliant spiritedness, that Jinyoung reaches for Jaebum’s hand and softly holds it in his. Jaebum slightly startles at the touch but almost as quickly relaxes, squeezing Jinyoung’s hand in unspoken affirmation.

They move up to the permanent exhibits, in which they learn about the history of the museum and of Taiwan, and about its endemic assortment of flora and fauna. Now and then they share their thoughts on an exhibit and progress to a casual, encouraging discussion. Jinyoung learns that Taipei is but the first of a list of destinations in Jaebum’s work detail here in Taiwan, and he revels in Jaebum’s accounts of the sceneries and experiences that he anticipates photographing on the rest of his trip. Jaebum himself still has two full days in the city before moving south, so Jinyoung lists the places and activities he recommends (including a reminder not to underestimate the potency of chili sauces, a lesson he’d learned the painful way and ensures he imparts to Jaebum).

And then they reach the stairway leading back to the lobby, both visibly deflating at the implication of goodbye. Jaebum asks him to stand against the large French window for a portrait, a request with which he shyly but gladly complies. He’s not the professional model he knows Jaebum is used to capturing so he doesn’t know how to pose or how to look. He settles for placing his hands in his pockets, turns a few degrees to the side, then directs his features into an honest, serenely content smile. Jaebum snaps a few shots from a spectrum of subtly different angles, and when he releases his hold on the camera Jinyoung notices him mirroring his own look of warm content. 

Jinyoung convinces him that they have to have a photo of both of them too, pulling his phone out of his pocket and brandishing it at Jaebum as an invitation. They pose in the middle of the lobby, in the exact place they met earlier this morning, and Jinyoung inclines the phone to capture the two of them against the stained-glass ceiling. He imitates Jaebum and takes a series of photos from different angles before he deems himself satisfied and moves to stow his phone back in his jeans pocket. Jaebum grasps at his arm midway to his pocket and makes a beckoning motion for his phone. Jinyoung sees him type his contact details into a blank note before locking and giving it back.

Jaebum doesn’t ask for  _ his _ contact information, and Jinyoung knows to interpret it as Jaebum giving him the choice to reach out to him and the freedom when to do so. They make their way to the exit and past the imposing doors, and for the first time since this morning Jinyoung glances down at his watch and notes the time. “I guess I have to go back now to pack, if I’m to make it in time to the airport.” He proffers the information in an attempted tone of objectivity, but he hears the melancholy in his own voice nevertheless.

“Right. I hope you get home safe, Jinyoung...and I hope you achieved what you intended to in Taipei.” He means the soul searching, but there’s an undertone of something else.

“I hope you do too, Jaebum.” He means the photography, but there’s an undertone of something else.

As Jinyoung comfortably rests against his seat on the plane later in the day, resting a cheek on the window and bidding farewell to the Taipei cityline from above, he thinks that yes, he did achieve what he intended here.

_ And so, at the precipice of an important life’s decision, Jinyoung had come here to Taipei to explore an exciting new city and, in doing so, inwardly explore the wishes of his heart. _

  
And he’d come to discover that the future he desires holds more than the job of his dreams. Maybe, just maybe, there’s a man in there too. But for now he breathes into the city from behind a pane of glass, “Goodbye, Taipei, I once was  _ here _ .” //

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the jy pb reminded me of my own trip to taiwan last year, and this was largely inspired by that (sans the meet-cute tho)


	6. cooking up romance

Jaebum swats at his phone as it buzzes in alarm, notifying him that it’s 6 am and time to wake up. He changes into a dri-fit shirt and track shorts, plugs in his earbuds, and slips into running shoes as he heads out of the apartment for his routine early-morning jog. It’s that time of year when at 6 am the sun is still inching itself upward to progressively illuminate the as yet mildly darkened, clear skies. He starts off at a relaxed pace as he makes his way from his neighborhood to the nearby city park, gradually moving into a brisk jog as he heads into the vast expanse of green. He’s been jogging this same path at this same time for long enough that he recognizes most of the other park-goers by face, as they also make their cursory rounds along the trails or breezily walk their dogs. The people he doesn’t acknowledge, but every so often he glances at a dog and gives it a passing smile. 

Jaebum tries not to let his mind wander as he’s jogging but this is one of those sporadic days when he’s prodded by the thought of how routine his life has turned, and his mood is slightly dampened by the attendant wave of melancholy passing through him as he is struck by the monotony of his day-to-day. It is a subtle shift in his disposition, like the beginning stirrings of fatigue or a gentle weighing down of his shoulders, and it persists as he’s heading back home and stopping at his favorite café for a quick breakfast to go. And it is because of this rising repulsion to routine that he purchases an  _ onion _ bagel, which he almost never chooses. As he collects the packaged bread from the cashier it suddenly seems sad and almost ironic that his idea of rebelling against routine is a different flavor of bagel. And as he exits the shop and takes his first bite of the bagel, he is reminded of why he _never_ gets an onion bagel. So he’s suddenly even more sad now.

It takes longer than usual but he does manage to finish his bagel by the time he arrives home. He starts the coffee machine before discarding his sweat-dampened clothing and taking a quick shower. He pours himself a mug of strong black brew as he dresses, taking sips between articles of clothing. He’s in one of his countless white undershirts and black slacks — paired with his knives bag he looks the typical restaurant chef on their way to work, which he is. Typical chef going in on a typical day.  _ Typical, typical _ .

He made sure to move into an apartment that was close enough to his workplace for walking to and fro. His tools are pretty secure in his bag but the chance, albeit dismal, of a knife slipping out onto the floor of a moving train is enough to reject the idea of riding the subway. And driving in the city, with its notoriety for traffic, is irrevocably out of the question — that and he still can’t afford a car on his paycheck. His father’s voice scolding, “You could if you became a doctor” briefly registers in his mind but he simply laughs it away. 

So yeah maybe his life right now is pretty routine, but he knows he’s still doing better than if he deferred to his parents’ wishes and went to medical instead of culinary school. He prefers operating on animal carcasses than live, albeit anesthetized, humans. He remembers his parents refusing to subsidize his education, but he was resolute in his career choice and took on part-time jobs to support himself through school. After his first year of juggling school and menial work, his body wavered under the exhaustion and he had to be admitted to the hospital. It was then, as they stood over his pale, thinned, slumbering body that his parents were confronted with the decision between having a chef for a son or no son at all. They paid for his tuition starting then but until now are yet to fully relinquish the physician son of their dreams — he never really died during that hospital confinement.

Relieved of financial pressure, Jaebum could allow himself to focus on his education through those final years in culinary school. His ambition and competitive spirit showed in his desire to earn outstanding marks and to impress his instructors and would-be employers. 

Sure enough his dedication landed him a job as a line cook at one of the most distinguished dining institutions in the city. He executed his tasks with utmost diligence and care, and capitalized on each interaction with his superiors as an opportunity for continued learning. He especially maximized it when the restaurant’s founder, a critically acclaimed and awarded icon in the industry, made his occasional rounds in the kitchen and paused at his station. Jaebum assumes his enthusiasm and efficiency hadn’t escaped the chef’s notice, because he steadily rose in rank through his time at the restaurant. He would eventually become executive chef, a position of honor and attention. The restaurant was, would always be, associated with and credited to the brilliance of its founder, but at least other chefs, critics, and magazine writers already knew his name — Im Jaebum, executive chef. The salary seemed woefully disproportionate to the outward esteem of his job title, but nevertheless it instilled a deep sense of pride and personal gratification. Chefs were known to boast an ego and the position fanned his.

It was two years in his term as executive chef that his peers started asking, “when are you going to have your own restaurant, Jaebum?” That was the highest he could rise in the restaurant and, though as executive chef he was greatly responsible for what dishes they served on the menu, it was the extent of his involvement in decisions and he was expected to ultimately start his own venture. It was, of course, a dream of his — to conceptualize his own restaurant and to play an active figure in the entirety of its development, to choose a space then see it come to life as he’d envisioned  it , to be the boss both in and  _ beyond _ the kitchen. But every time he’d imagine it he’d catch himself, wonder if he truly was ready for such an undertaking and such a role, fret over the need to present to investors and the string of rejections that that entailed, worry about the restaurant succeeding if it ever did become one. And so he stayed on as executive chef.  _ Stays _ .

He walks in through the back door and smiles at his colleagues as they greet him a good morning. The cooks that are already here are starting on prep work for lunch service — peeling then slicing, dicing, chopping, julienning a variety of produce; butchering, trimming, resting, filleting all sorts of quality meats; cleaning, scaling, filleting, boning freshly caught and delivered seafood. They’re making marinades and sauces, ice creams and mousses and cakes, and Jaebum makes sure to briefly inspect and make taste tests at each station after donning his chef’s coat and fully assuming his role as head of the kitchen. There are staff cleaning and polishing dishes and cutlery, and setting tables in the dining room. The wait staff will be arriving shortly and Jaebum scours his mind for things he’ll need informing them for today’s service. He comes up blank and thinks there’s nothing particularly special about today.  _ Typical, typical _ .

Soon the staff are fully assembled and the front of the house starts to welcome diners and escorts them to their tables. Glasses are filled with wine, guests are greeted and given the menu, compelling commentaries and descriptions of each dish are recited, and orders are then taken for the first course. One then two then three tickets arrive and Jaebum announces their contents to his chefs — two scallop, one soup, one tartare; one soup, one salad, two scallop — an almost unbroken series of orders to replies of “yes, chef” and “heard”. He hears pans sizzling, furious slicing, the rattle of spoons and ladles against the pot. He smells butter browning, a whiff of balsamic, a blend of aromatics. Plated dishes are set in front of him and he carefully inspects each one to assess presentation, the placement and completeness of what he knows to be the components of the specific dish, the sear on the scallops and the appearance of other cooked items, the amount of sauce, down to the cleanliness of the plate on which the food rests. As executive chef he ensures  that each dish has his approval before it’s sent out and placed in front of a diner. They’re serving paying customers, and he wants not only that  the diners receive their money’s worth but also that they maintain the standard they’ve set for the restaurant and which everyone expects when they set a reservation and then step through the doors. An institution such as theirs rests on the foundation of these details and not one escapes Jaebum’s meticulous management.

Soon he receives tickets for entrées and he’s listing off orders for duck, lamb, and halibut as he’s sending out the last of the appetizers. Timing is especially important and challenging during the main course because proteins have various cook times and preparations. Duck breasts have to be patiently and adequately rendered to obtain that golden crispy skin that diners particularly look for. Meat has to be well rested so it doesn’t bleed onto the plate, losing juices and drying out on top of making for an atrocity of a plate. Fish can be unforgiving because there’s only a narrow window of time between being undercooked and being dry, neither of which are hardly appetizing. And because of the staggered course by which tickets arrive, chefs have to start a new piece of protein while working on one or more others, often having to stay on top of multiple pans. If that weren’t challenging enough they also have to time their dishes with other chefs’ so that all diners at a table receive their meals at the same time. 

Service is a grueling exercise in focus and composure, and a lot of their training is in building the balance between working properly and working fast. It doesn’t happen often but, especially when they’re introducing a new dish, the chefs have yet to develop their synchrony and Jaebum has to send plates back for cooking more or cooking again. It causes the diners to have to wait an additional few minutes but it’s still a preferable option to serving an imperfect dish and running the risk of a customer sending it back. Jaebum can’t afford that humiliation for him or the restaurant.

When tickets for dessert start streaming in, Jaebum breathes a slight sigh of relief. Every component of each of their dessert choices has been finalized during prep and all that’s required is the assembly. Presentation is important for every dish but is a particularly prominent feature in their desserts, which are often photographed by diners and uploaded on their social media. 

But as soon as diners settle their bills the servers turn the tables and invite the second round of lunch-goers then. They’re only afforded a brief reprieve between sending the last desserts out and receiving tickets for appetizers, an interim they fill by rearranging their stations. They repeat the lunch service with no hitch and Jaebum pats his crew on their backs after filling the last ticket. They only have an hour to clean up, have lunch, and recover before they start prep for dinner service. 

\---

Jaebum disrobes himself of his chef’s jacket, then walks to the nearby deli for a sandwich that he wolfs down on the trip back. It was a Reuben today, his Wednesday order that he decides on on a Tuesday. He’s still pathetically rebelling against the tedium of routine that had nagged at him this morning, albeit with less vindictiveness. When he returns to the restaurant, some of his chefs are already starting on prep work, but he lets the others who are either still eating or resting continue to do so. He trusts that everyone is aware of and responsible for their individual tasks, and in their choice of pace at which to execute them. 

He himself helps where he can, although he doesn’t need to: the faster prep is completed, the more time they have to steel themselves before service. It is part and parcel of their restaurant’s popularity that even weekdays are fully booked, so a Tuesday such as this still carries the potential for a toxic dinner service. He alternates between tasks to ensure he can still efficiently do prep work, a skill that many chefs tend to forego when they climb the ranks and can pass on the dirty work to apprentices. Today he butchers salmon, taking care to run his knife as close to the bone to maximize portion size, then divides the flesh into fillets as equal in breadth as is naturally possible, before he deftly pinbones the produced fillets. He arranges the finished pieces on a tray and sets them aside to rest — those will be cooked confit later, and served with a consommé and an assortment of fresh and pickled vegetables for balance. 

He washes his hands fastidiously to ensure he doesn’t contaminate anything with the smell and taste of salmon, then returns to his expected task of inspecting every station and making suggestions as necessary. Even when following recipes it is imperative to keep tasting each component, especially given the reasonable variation in the quality and taste of produce. “This needs more acid,” “you can do with an additional pinch of salt,” “reduce it further” are common phrases he doles out as warranted. In his downtime, he scans the dining room from his station and serenely watches the sky shift in color from outside the glass panes. Guests start lining up outside the restaurant twenty minutes before opening and he beckons his staff to start occupying their stations and arranging their materials as another night of dinner service is about to commence.

The first round of dinner service goes by without a hitch, and a new round of diners starts filtering in. Jaebum is wiping his counter in anticipation of new tickets and then he looks up and has to stop himself from visibly gaping. Coming into their restaurant is quite honestly the most beautiful man he’s ever seen — a tall, fair, and elegant specimen of a man in a cream turtleneck and beige high-waist pants, with a beige coat draped over an arm. He is led to a two-seater table, from which the server removes the second place setting. It seems silly to be invested this way in a diner but Jaebum can’t deny his relief that the man is eating solo and therefore is not on a date. The server asks him a question, which Jaebum assumes is his choice of wine, because following his response he is poured a glass of chardonnay. 

Jaebum notes how the man politely and mirthfully accepts the proffered wine: too many times he’s observed posh diners haughtily respond to servers as if to accentuate their divide in role. It’s a clientele that their restaurant, with its reputation and price point, is predisposed to attracting, and Jaebum is glad to see that his new crush is none of the sort. Just then two tickets come in and, ever the professional, he resumes his role of executive chef and announces, “one soup, one salad; two oyster, one salad.”

But not without taking a final glance at the handsome diner as he seriously studies the menu in his hands. Jaebum allows himself a smitten smile.

The order from table sixteen ( _ the _ table) arrives and it’s for soup. The dish is an upscale, layered version of a corn soup and Jaebum calls it out to the kitchen as he attempts to glimpse into the guy’s personality with this one order. Predictably, it doesn’t tell him much, but that at least he chose a dish that goes with chardonnay. Jaebum observes, in between announcing tickets and sending dishes out, when the server brings the soup for table sixteen. The man smiles handsomely up at the server when his dish is placed in front of him. He doesn’t take a photo of it but he does seem to be studying its composition, then elegantly wafts its aroma with a hand and looks pleased. He takes his soup spoon and dips it, carefully, making sure to have each component present. He then gently blows into it and  _ okay Jaebum had to swallow when he watched the man wrap his lips around the spoon _ . The man had plush pink pillows for lips and the scene of him taking his first spoonful of soup played out almost in slow motion to Jaebum. Erotic undertones aside, Jaebum did notice the pleased, mildly surprised expression on the man’s face, and he does a little mental whoop in pride and triumph. But alas, like clockwork, additional tickets arrive and he doesn’t see the man as he sips and finishes the rest of his soup.

Orders for entrées start coming in and he wonders which dish table sixteen will select. Besides the salmon he helped prep earlier, they’re serving a sumptuous veal option, a modern reinvention of the classic duck à l’orange, and a complex vegetarian course that he personally developed. When the ticket arrives he discovers he ordered salmon and Jaebum calls it out with an oncoming smirk, feeling some kind of pride for his trivial contribution in the preparation of the dish.  _ I butchered and filleted that salmon myself, handsome diner! _ But then he finds himself replaying his time at prep and dreads having overlooked a bone in any one of his fillets. He knows he didn’t, and it’s never worried him before in all the times he personally prepped the fish, but the idea of single-handedly spoiling a dish for the handsome diner has him uncharacteristically sweating. A series of tickets interrupts his melodramatic internal monologue and he calms himself down lest his voice break when shouting out the orders.

As with the appetizer course, Jaebum makes sure to glance at the man after he sends out the dish for table sixteen. He’s placidly looking around the dining room when the server announces the arrival of his meal and disrupts his reverie. He startles slightly at the greeting but quickly recovers and opens his mouth in what Jaebum makes out to be “thank you.” Again he seems to study the dish in front of him before he carefully dissects his salmon, pleasedly nodding at the cook of it. He first samples each component individually before experimenting with the composition of his subsequent bites. He chews thoughtfully, sometimes with eyes closed even, seeming to savor the taste and mouthfeel of each component, individually and together, as they roll along his tongue. His eyes and smile show his unguarded enjoyment of the dish and he seems almost youthful in his gusto as he makes his way through the dish. A server pauses at his table to refill his wine and inquires on his opinion of the dish, to which the man excitedly conveys his appreciation and praise. Jaebum watches as the man takes his last bite then sets his cutlery back down and gently dabs at his mouth with a napkin. Jaebum attempts a peek at his plate and from here he can see how clean it is, with just a few spots of moisture from the lingering drops of consommé and oil.  _ See, no bones _ .

The franticity of the dinner service wanes as they’re sending out the last of the entrées so Jaebum is relatively free to watch the handsome diner. He notices how the man, despite dining alone, doesn’t reach for his phone even in the period between courses. He simply rests his delicate face in one hand and serenely gazes across the restaurant. Jaebum sees him study the interior architecture, the ornate relief of the chandeliers, the paintings on the walls (which Jaebum notices his eyes linger on for minutes at a time, and he wonders if this man were some sort of connoisseur or an artist himself). The man also subtly observes the other diners, not so much in an active intrusion of privacy but out of a simple curiosity for human lives outside his own. Jaebum would know because he too people-watches when in a public space —  it must be an introvert's thing. 

From his vantage point at the front of the kitchen overlooking the dining area, Jaebum can always scan the room and observe the diners, can watch them as they enjoy the meals that he and his staff prepare, can study the stilted or open way they talk with their companions, can revel in the unique atmosphere of a restaurant in which he straddles the divide between the relaxed sophistication of the dining room and the controlled frenzy of the kitchen. But usually he chooses to concentrate on liaising with servers and chefs to receive orders and dispatch dishes, and he never fixates on any one diner. And yet this handsome man, blissfully and beautifully oblivious, captured his attention from the moment he passed through the doors to the moment he took his place at table sixteen. 

And it is not purely physical, because although he is admittedly attractive, his aura and demeanor throughout the night have been equally remarkable and intriguing to Jaebum. He has shown a great respect and appreciation for the servers who entertain him, devoted his entire attention to the meals set in front of him, relished the food that the chefs prepared, savored it for all its complexities and nuances in taste, in texture, in feel; and even in the interludes he has refused the distraction of technology and placidly but firmly anchored himself to the present, to the experience, to the night. His whole  _ being _ this evening, to Jaebum, has been nothing short of captivating.

Jaebum starts taking and dispatching orders for dessert and the final course for today’s service, including a composed dish highlighting strawberry for table sixteen. Table sixteen, the man at whom has made this otherwise ordinary Tuesday night nothing  _ but _ typical; who, on a day such as this when Jaebum is perturbed by the established monotony of his life, has drawn him out of his reverie and painted his night in vivid, exciting, new detail. And maybe it’s the rebellion for routine that has intermittently manifested itself throughout the day, or the sole effect of this beautiful stranger, but Jaebum doesn’t want this night to be an isolated splash of color in the otherwise dreary, monochromatic canvas of his life. Suddenly, and with startling confidence and bravery, he feels like this splash of color may be in fact the compelling first stroke in a new work of art.

Jaebum tensely watches as Mark, the server, approaches table sixteen with the check holder. He’d called him as he was sending out the last of the desserts in order to help him stage his bravely optimistic plan. He observes as Mark stands to the man’s side and, as they’d rehearsed, informs him that his meal is on the house and the check taken care of by the executive chef. Jaebum notes the man scrunch his eyebrows (confusion) then gape his mouth (shock) before proffering his uncertain thanks for the gesture. Mark then hands him the check holder, opened to reveal a handwritten note instead of the usual bill. Jaebum is nervously cracking his knuckles as he watches the man study the note, which reads — 

“Hi! I’m Jaebum, the executive chef. I hope you enjoyed your meal tonight! I apologize if this is being too forward, and I’ve never done this before, but you caught my eye tonight and I wonder if you would accept an invitation for coffee?” 

His number is listed at the end. The man looks up at and speaks to Mark, and by the way the server extracts his notepad from his pocket and tears the man a sheet, Jaebum deduces he had asked for paper. Jaebum watches, heart paused in its beating, as the man produces a pen and writes what he assumes is a reply to his note, and then as he offers it to Mark with a polite smile. 

Just then the man turns around and meets Jaebum’s gaze and  _ oh god his heart outright stops in his chest _ . That mirthful face, with its delicate features and which he’d observed all night, is turned in his direction and focused straight at Jaebum. He gives a bashful smile and nod, then takes his coat, and stands up to leave the restaurant. Jaebum watches him elegantly stride across the room when Mark nudges him in the side and cheekily offers the man’s reply to his note. He steels himself before unfurling the letter, which reads —

“Hi, Jaebum! Thank you for preparing (and paying for) my meal tonight. I did greatly enjoy it and appreciate the effort and gesture. I would love to go out for coffee, and this time it’s on me.” He ends with a winking emoticon then lists his name and number.  _ Jinyoung _ . 

  
Jaebum smiles and breathes out a sigh of relief, almost sagging into the counter at the excitement of the night and the thrill of promise in the note. The day had started out and progressed as any other would ( _ typical, typical _ ) but, as Jaebum carefully pockets the note in his hands, this time routine might just give way to romance. //

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya boi is obviously fond of cooking shows


	7. at last

Jinyoung looks across the venue as he makes his way from his car. The couple had opted for an out-of-town garden wedding and it frankly looks a dream. White tulle billows in the wind from the corner arches, and chairs draped in pristine cream fabric are precisely arranged in rows on the carefully manicured lawn. Floral shrubs in a multitude of colors and gradations frame the plot on both sides, and Jinyoung is already bathed in the harmonious blend of scents from where he stands. As he inches closer, the visual highlight of the location is progressively revealed — a view of the city from where the garden sits atop a mountain. At this time of day the sky is a gentle blue with nary a cloud and he surmises the scene will only grow more picturesque as the sun sets and the city is suffused with an electric glow. He gingerly takes a seat on the right, as per Mark’s reminder, a few rows from the front, and lets himself bask in the thrum of joyful anticipation that settles over such an occasion. It’s been a while since he’d last attended a wedding and he’d looked forward to this one for several reasons other than wanting to switch his everyday white coat with a tux.

He and Mark had been coursemates in university. They were by each other’s sides through long nights at the library or at coffee shops, as they consumed unhealthy amounts of caffeine to finish the material for next day’s exam; and through the small hours at 24/7 fast-food joints, as they continued to consume unhealthy amounts of caffeine (and cholesterol) when the coffee shops had closed and they had yet to finish the material for next day’s exam. Together they complained about the sadistic amount of coursework that befell them at particular times in the semester, and together they completed them despite the complaints because both were pointedly determined in securing outstanding marks. They helped each other fill out the necessary application forms for their dream medical school, and were whom the other first called when he received his admission letter.

Medical school had been an even more challenging experience, and Jinyoung is perpetually grateful that he had a friend like Mark to tide him through the deep physical and mental exhaustion that he’d continually felt those five years. He finished top of their undergraduate class and was wholly unprepared (and shattered) his first term in med school when he only barely passed or even failed his anatomy exams. It was through Mark’s validation and reassurance that he regained his confidence and began to see medical school not as the competition that university had been for him, but as a learning opportunity — to slowly and steadily uncover more of the secrets and intricacies of the human body, to trace the events that lead to disease, and ultimately to become the caring and competent physician that his future patients needed him to. Together the two of them went through the wards — they learned even more than they did in the classroom, really saw patients for the persons they were beyond their conditions, grieved over every single mortality they encountered — and through it all repeatedly affirmed the path they wanted for themselves. Mark would eventually become a psychiatrist, while Jinyoung chose pediatrics for his residency. Naturally they saw less of each other as they specialized in their own field, but both recognized the strength and permanence of the kind of bond they’d forged over a decade.

Mark’s particular field was emotionally taxing by nature and, though Jinyoung had always perceived him amply suited to psychiatry given his levelheadedness and serene demeanor, there were times when he’d be overwhelmed and it was Jinyoung who he’d call to ground him and help extricate his thoughts from those of his patients’. 

Jinyoung had also been privy to the evolution of Mark’s relationship with Jackson — from when they met at a mutual friend’s birthday party to their coffee dates and, ultimately, to when Jackson popped the question in a casual and intimate proposal he knew the other would appreciate, after which Mark had retrieved the ring that he’d bought to himself propose to Jackson. Jinyoung helped him choose a ring and still distinctly remembers the mirth in Mark’s eyes as they went through boutiques and the thrill that he himself felt at the awaiting realization of his friend’s romantic dreams.

Jinyoung restores himself to the present, patiently seated in anticipation of the ceremony. If he were the best man, he would have been with Mark in his dressing room, likely calming him down from the attendant tension of one’s wedding. But Mark has a younger brother with whom he made a pact at ten years old, and he couldn’t renege from a twenty-year agreement. 

Deep inside, however, Jinyoung knows that Mark had at least partly considered the work and time expected of a best man, and he knew Jinyoung could not have possibly fulfilled those duties on top of his responsibilities as chief fellow at the hospital. Even years after, he knew Mark was still looking out for him and didn’t wish him to feel guilty when he inevitably had to turn the offer down. The romantic in him wishes he could have filled the role, especially as Mark  _ is _ his best friend and this was likely the only chance he would have gotten to tick it off his bucket list, but it just had not been realistic given his professional constraints; and Jinyoung is foremost a career man, as Mark himself had teased him through the years. 

He swivels slightly in his seat and notes how most rows have now been filled with attendees chatting amicably amongst themselves, all bright and brilliant in their formal attire and sunny dispositions. He makes eye contact with some of their med school classmates and waves from where he’s seated. He knows from the seat plan that he’ll be sharing a table with them at the reception so he can catch up with them then. 

And then he hears his name being called and turns to the side to see Mark’s parents standing and beckoning him. He quickly and excitedly makes his way to them, beaming as he embraces Mark’s mother and father in turn. Mark’s parents were the loveliest people, who would always extend their warmth and generosity to Jinyoung when they visited their son. So in all the years that Jinyoung had gone to school with Mark, he’d also grown close to his parents.

“Jinyoung, it has been absolutely too long,” Mark’s mother remarks. “It has to have been at least three years.” 

Come to think of it, he realizes, it probably has been that long because he can’t remember the last time he’d seen Mark’s parents. Jinyoung feels suddenly apologetic and berates himself for failing to even catch up with them besides greeting them on their birthdays and responding to their emails wishing him a Merry Christmas (the gaudy, virtual season’s greetings always bring a smile to his face during the holidays).

“Jinyoung just has been busy, sweetheart,” defends Mark’s father to his wife.

“Oh of course, we aren’t blaming you, dear! I hope my comment didn’t strike you that way. We just have truly missed you is all. We were very proud to hear from Mark that you’d been appointed chief fellow — you always have had such high aspirations and the determination to achieve them. I hope you know how Mark had always idolized you for that and how you influenced him to work harder.”

Jinyoung is rendered speechless, and can only smile warmly as she hugs her again. He does know that and it’s why he and Mark had beautifully complemented each other through their schooling years — Jinyoung’s ambition and resolute dedication both fueled and was tempered by Mark, with his own placidity and composure. Still, he appreciates the recognition of his import by someone so dear to Mark and whom he himself greatly admires and values. “I’ll definitely remind Mark to inform me the next time you visit him in the city.”

With that they exchange a final hug before Mark’s parents assume their positions at the start of the procession and Jinyoung returns to his seat. A great buzz develops among the attendees before a silence settles almost soon after. He turns around and sure enough the rest of the entourage appears, while the officiant makes his way to the front of the venue. The soft opening bars of a ballad mark the formal commencement of the ceremony and Jinyoung thrums in excitement. 

Mark’s parents head the procession, radiating jubilation as they share in their son’s happiest day of his life. They are followed by a couple whom Jinyoung assumes are Jackson’s parents, they too smiling brightly like the Tuans. The rest of the couple’s families follow shortly, and then after them the best men — Jinyoung is momentarily stunned by Jackson’s best man, a handsome enigma of a man whose smiling face conveys the genuine happiness of one at their friend’s wedding, while also exuding an alluring sort of mystery. Jinyoung also appreciates the vision of the man’s broad shoulders and back in his tuxedo. He blinks back the blush he feels rising in his cheeks and chooses to direct his attention on the adorable ring bearer and flower girl, whom he recognizes as Mark’s nephew and niece. 

And then there, walking behind the children, are the couple at last. Mark and Jackson hold hands as they serenely march down the aisle, and Jinyoung can only tear up at how beautiful they both look. He’s seen Mark at various ages, states, and expressions, and he can honestly say that Mark, beautiful Mark, has never been as breathtaking as he is in this moment, in a white tuxedo that perfectly mirrors Jackson’s, hair expertly styled and framing his delicate face, on which Jinyoung regards the most radiant smile he’s ever seen on his friend. Mark catches his eye and beams impossibly wider, which Jinyoung reciprocates by playfully blowing a kiss. The couple reach the end of the aisle and stand, hands still firmly intertwined, in front of the officiant, who then welcomes everyone present and begins his spiel.

It is over the course of the wedding that Jinyoung realizes how thoughtfully timed it had been, as the sky shifts from blue to pink and then to a fiery orange right as the couple exchange their vows. Jinyoung enjoys this part of the wedding the most because, as the couple recite their intimately personal letters to each other, they allow everyone present to glimpse into the dynamic of their relationship — with all its joys and challenges, the seemingly trivial, mundane activities they enjoy together, the details they’ve learned to notice and appreciate in their partner, and how meeting each other has allowed them to grow both as separate individuals and as a singular unit. Mark has always been a reserved and private individual, and Jinyoung learns in their vows how Jackson seamlessly complements him in that regard: knowing to acknowledge and respect Mark’s boundaries while also carefully and lovingly drawing him out of his shell and into the world at large, with all its attendant wonders and horrors, hands and hearts intertwined through the daunting process.

A single tear of joy trails down his cheek — in wonder that Mark and Jackson had serendipitously entered each other’s lives, and in assurance that his best friend, whom he loves so dearly, has found and will continue to enjoy the happiness and safety that true love provides.  _ “When I see Jackson at the end of the day, it feels like coming home. It  _ is _ coming home.” _

Jinyoung notices Mark’s parents wiping their faces as Mark declares this sentiment in his vows. He knows how, like him and probably more so, they are awash in relief and happiness. Because, apart from their family, their son has found a person with whom he is home.

Both Mark and Jackson had been unable to suppress their own tears as they read and listened to the other’s vows, and they’re red-eyed and giggling as the officiant finally pronounces them husbands and enjoins them to kiss. They lean into each other with both hands together and placed between their chests, against the most exquisitely vivid sunset, and the entire party stands and bathes the newlyweds in celebratory applause. Jinyoung notices Jackson’s best man in his periphery and it charms him that he’s not above tears himself, despite his borderline stoic aura. He then looks back to the newly married couple as they turn to face their guests and raise their interlocked hands in a display of jubilation. Jinyoung can only cheer harder.

They’re treated to canapés and champagne as the wedding organizers rearrange the venue for the reception. Jinyoung is reacquainting himself with his old classmates when Mark and Jackson grace their company. They congratulate and alternately embrace the newlyweds, who gladly return the affections and express their gratitude, despite them having gone through the routine amongst the other parties for how many minutes now. Mark approaches him last and they share a silent, fond look between themselves before going into a conversation. “I am  _ so _ immensely happy for you, Mark, and I want to tell you that although I’m sure you already know.”

“Thank you, Jinyoungie, and I am  _ so _ immensely happy to see you. I literally could not see myself getting married without you here, after we’ve done practically everything together.” They share a knowing laugh, as the statement incites a mental timelapse of more than ten years’ worth of memories.

“I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. And I have too many mental images of you looking a disheveled zombie from med school. I wanted to remember you as being beautiful for once.” 

The ribbing elicits a good-natured punch in the shoulder from Mark. “You are too cruel, Jinyoungie. And that was an absolute lie — even after three liters of coffee and fifty hours straight on duty I was at least a solid seven.” 

It  _ was _ an absolute lie, he knows, as his friend had always unfairly maintained an effortless beauty whilst the rest of them looked, smelled, and felt like hell.

They’re in the middle of another inside joke when Jackson is approached by his best man, apparently to ask him something. Jinyoung is startled by the sudden and unexpected proximity and his face exposes this reaction before he can voluntarily school his features. Mark, ever acutely observant, registers the shift in his appearance if his devilish eyebrow raise is anything to go by. Thankfully, he waits for Jinyoung’s crush to leave and be a sizable distance away before addressing the development. “So, someone had a reaction to Jaebum.”

Jinyoung could choose to feign ignorance to spare himself the teasing but he’s long learned and accepted the futility of such an enterprise when dealing with Mark, who can be both remarkably intuitive and resolutely persistent when these opportunities arise.

“Is that his name? I just noticed him during the procession. He’s cute.” Jinyoung says it in a tone that hopefully sounds nonchalant, but again nothing ever escapes Mark, including his feeble attempt to downplay his reaction.

“Come to think of it, Jinyoungie, I can’t imagine how I met then talked to Jaebum all this time without realizing that he is the literal epitome of my best friend’s type. But maybe it’s because my best friend is a career man through and through and has made it clear he isn’t interested in a relationship.”

“And I am not, I’m perfectly content with and adjusted to being single. I just find him cute is all, and it must also have something to do with this stifling blanket of romance in the air.” 

Jackson comes behind Mark and wraps an arm around his waist while they’re in the middle of laughter. They both interpret it as a sign that the newlyweds have to move on to entertaining a new set of guests. Neither Jinyoung nor Mark relish the prospect of ending their conversation so soon but both understand the necessity. Mark gives him a final wink before taking Jackson’s arm and leaving their group. Jinyoung pinches his nose in equal parts amusement and exasperation, knowing this isn’t the end of Mark’s teasing and wondering just what he’ll do to egg him on.

The five-course dinner is predictably sensational — his figure doesn’t betray it but Mark is fond of food, a product of their post-exam eating out all through school, so Jinyoung knows he personally made sure each dish was nothing short of perfect. That and they can afford it. Jinyoung is particularly amused and enthralled by the milk tea panna cotta for dessert. Milk tea is what he and Mark still treat themselves to after especially stressful workdays, although the calories are harder to burn than they were in their twenties. 

After dinner, the beautifully grand, tastefully decorated cake is wheeled out and the couple symbolically slice into it together, to the guests’ cheers. Unfazed by the formality of the occasion and the presence of attendees, Mark and Jackson don’t miss the chance to playfully slather each other’s faces in icing. Thankfully they don’t lick it off of each other to keep it PG.

When they sit back down, Mark’s parents take the stage and invite the guests to raise their glasses in a toast to the newlyweds. They then give the most poignant of speeches and Jinyoung disproves the idea of having no more tears to cry (which is otherwise true in dehydrated patients). 

Jackson’s parents then follow, and their speech is more lighthearted than the Tuans’ but no less sincere or moving. It is especially clear how grateful the couple’s parents are that their sons found their way to each other, and how confident they are in the longevity of their relationship, doling pieces of advice for when the inevitable challenges emerge to test their bond. 

Mark’s brother, as his best man, is next to give his message to the newlyweds and he makes quite the formidable stand-up comic, interspersing humor with more affectionate material ( _ Jacks, I’d threaten you with a beating in case you hurt my brother, but who am I kidding? I’m a scrawny, little guy and it’d be like Pinocchio challenging Popeye to arm wrestle, and I can’t poke your eyes with my nose when I’m starting to lose. But not only is it an empty threat, it’s also pointless. I’ve seen and been around the two of you too many times to know you wouldn’t hurt Mark. _ )

Jinyoung is so enamored by the speech that he forgets to realize that if Mark’s brother gave a message then naturally the next one is —

Jaebum, as Jackson’s best man, takes the floor with a guitar strapped across his torso. He lets himself gape at the idea of Jaebum as a musician and catches Mark turned around, from where he’s seated, to look at him, an impish smile on his face. Jinyoung rolls his eyes at his best friend’s distant teasing then turns his gaze back to Jaebum as he fiddles with the microphone stand and some cords.

“Good evening, everyone. I’m Im Jaebum, Jackson’s best man. I’d like to manifest that as his best friend I’ve managed to endure him for a decade which, for those who don’t know Jackson, is a feat. And as his best man I’d like to also manifest that he is a certifiable male bridezilla. 

But as both his best friend and his best man I can tell you that he’s never been happier than when he’s with Mark, and he’s never been more tame, so it’s a match made in heaven if there ever was one. 

Now we’ve reached the extent of my humor so instead I’d like to dedicate a song to the newlyweds. Mark and Jackson, I wish you forever.”

Jinyoung doesn’t expect Jaebum to sing Etta James, but he does, and Jinyoung cannot remember being as  _ mesmerized _ as he is in this moment as Jaebum performs an acoustic rendition of “At Last,” which he realizes is actually the perfect choice to display Jaebum’s unique voice and vocal stylings. 

By whatever force of nature or pull of the universe, they lock eyes as the song ends and Jinyoung’s breath escapes as Jaebum sings “at last” with his eyes firmly on Jinyoung. The guests clap appreciatively at the conclusion of Jaebum’s performance and he bows as response, gaze flitting to Jinyoung for a moment as he raises his head back up and before he leaves the stage.

Jinyoung shuts his eyes and feels his heart beat wildly in his chest, then takes measured breaths to calm it down. He hears Jackson cough into the microphone and express his and Mark’s sincere appreciation to everyone for sharing this momentous occasion with them. Jinyoung wills himself to focus on the newlyweds’ closing speech, and is successful for the most part, but his slightly tachycardic heart rate shows he’s still reeling from his moment with Jaebum.

The dance floor is opened and couples stand to slow dance to the ballad that plays, with the newlyweds themselves moving serenely in the center. Jinyoung also stands but moves to the bar instead, for the promise of free-flowing refreshments and because he needs a drink to ease his nerves. It’s not the wisest of decisions but he downs the first gin-and-tonic then asks for another to hold and sip on. 

He’s halfway through the cocktail when he hears a man say “hi” from beside him. All the alcohol from the night has started to numb his reflexes so he doesn’t startle at the sound and coolly moves his body to face the stranger, who is, of course, Jaebum. He talks himself against downing the drink in his hand, and instead greets “hi” in return, offering his hand as well and introducing himself as “Jinyoung, Mark’s friend.” Jaebum shakes the proffered hand and likewise introduces himself. Although, quite frankly, the both of them know Jinyoung is already aware. 

“Beautiful performance earlier,” he voices, “are you not a lawyer like Jackson or are you just insanely talented?” Jaebum chuckles at the comment and blushes into his drink before responding. “I was classmates with Jackson in our first year of uni. And then I dropped out of economics and shifted to music. I’m now a composer for a music label.”

Jinyoung is impressed but chooses instead to say, “It’s great that you and Jackson remained friends, though. Mark and I went through both uni and med school together.”

“I have Jackson to thank for that. He gave me the encouraging push I needed to shift to music, because I was both unsure of my talent and cautious to tell my parents. And after I’d overcome that, because he knew how introverted I was, he made sure to continue checking in on me and scheduling meetups. Contrary to what I’d said earlier in my speech, he was actually the one who’d done the enduring. He’s a really great guy.”

“I’ve only spent little time with Jackson and Mark together but I can tell that he is a great guy and they fit so well with each other. Mark’s last relationship was in our second year of med school and it had ended  _ terribly _ , then it was just easy to devote himself entirely to his studies and training. That’s why he was hesitant to date Jackson at first, even though I remember him calling to say how funny this guy he met at a party was and how easily they clicked. I’m glad he gave it a shot because it really was one of his best decisions, as we all gather here today to celebrate.”

Jaebum chuckles and agrees before his expression suddenly turns pensive and almost bashful. “If you don’t mind me asking...what about you? Is there someone like that in your life?”

Jinyoung is both surprised and not, the question was sure to come up some time in their conversation. “There isn’t...actually I’ve never been in a relationship. I only came out in university and even then I was so focused on my schoolwork that I didn’t entertain the idea of a relationship as anything more than a distraction that I couldn’t afford. When I was already in med school I wasn’t as fixated on my grades but then there was so much more work, so that dating had been like a logistical challenge. And it was even worse during residency because I devoted my days off to catching up on sleep and recharging my social battery. 

Also, after a few years of pediatrics, I realized it became even harder to maintain conversation with people my own age, unless it was about their kids whom I was managing.”

“I’d say you’re doing pretty fine right now though.” 

Jinyoung giggles and tries to formulate a reply but Jaebum beats him to it. “Would you give dating a shot if you could?”

Jinyoung is stunned by  _ that  _ question and asks the bartender for a refill to avoid dead air while he muses on the question. The thing is he’s already so used to his established routine that the idea of dating and an eventual relationship isn’t really a topic he’s seriously contemplated in so long. He’s always worked toward success in his career, and a relationship has never been his priority or even an aspiration. There’s also the fear of something foreign and of potential heartbreak, so  _ would _ he give dating a shot if he could?

Jaebum starts to take the question back before Jinyoung blurts that he doesn’t know. “Maybe?”

“I’m sorry I asked. It was too upfront of me to have posed the question.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s just not something I’ve had to think about so I can’t definitively say at this time.”

“That’s fair enough. But I do still apologize if it made you uncomfortable.”   
  
Jinyoung assures that it really is fine then looks out to the dance floor and finds Mark and Jackson in the middle of the throng, sharing quiet words and laughter as they continue to press against each other and sway to the rhythm of the song. And then he thinks about how serendipitously they’d met, and that Mark too wasn’t looking for romance when they did. And was it not Jinyoung who encouraged him to give Jackson a chance? Did he not just tell Jaebum how glad he was that Mark had given it a shot? He chuckles to himself, remembering all the times he’d been so liberal about giving romantic advice to his friends because he honestly cared for them and wanted what he thought best.

The expression “always the bridesmaid but never the bride” doesn’t bother him in the slightest but maybe, just maybe, this time he can  _ take _ the advice that he himself gives. He’s not setting anything in stone so what has he to lose here? Why not give it a shot?

He looks back at Jaebum, who he finds is also fondly watching Mark and Jackson dance. Again Jinyoung is both surprised and not. He considers needing to take a shot but instead chooses to just take a breath for this one. And then when he’s calmed himself enough he places his drink down on the counter and gently taps Jaebum in the arm. 

“Jaebum, would you care for a dance?” //

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this may or may not be my own personal fantasy
> 
> also this oneshot will probably be the last for now, being that i am in a massive slump, but i'll def write some more when i acquire the idea and inspiration

**Author's Note:**

> i have been wanting to do a meet-cute oneshot series in. forever. i saw a video of johnny seo discussing a new 127 song in an interview and was inspired to write this.
> 
> the title is obvs a play on singin' in the rain, which is such a joyful film do watch it if you haven't yet (or even if you have!)
> 
> i hope you enjoyed this and do comment below for meet-cute ideas you'd want me to write (i might, we shall see) <3


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